Painted Angels
by WinJennster
Summary: Castiel Novak is an author, and his most successful book is about the failed relationship he had in college with a painter. It didn't last, but he finds himself back in the place where it all started for a book signing. When his former love shows up for the book signing, Cas finds all his old wounds open again. (Destiel)
1. What's New in Baltimore

_Yeah it's new fic. I was inspired by a meme on tumblr with Misha sitting signing autographs with a starbucks cup in hand. It spawned this. I hope you enjoy. Forgive the indulgence of using Baltimore. I couldn't help myself and they can't always be in goddamn Lawrence right?_

_Title for chapter from a Frank Zappa song._

* * *

Baltimore, Maryland.

It'd been a long time since he'd been there, but since the book was based in Charm City, it made perfect sense that his editor sent him back for a book signing.

Everything was right there.

The little coffee joint.

The killer second hand clothes shop.

The record store.

The hole-in-the-wall bar where they used to get smashed together.

The tattoo joint where they got the matching ink that one time.

All the places that hold his memories, memories of the happiest time of his life.

He's not been that happy since.

And as he walks into the beautiful steampunk-esque Barnes and Noble in Harbor Place, Castiel Novak can't help but feel like he's come full circle.

The place is mobbed, and there's loud applause as he walks in. He's led up to the second floor on the incredible glass escalators, and he takes in the copper plated chimneys that used to be part of the former power plant. When he was a child, about eight or ten or something, the first renovation of the power plant had included an odd little carnival slash amusement park. He remembers the one exhibit, it's foggy in his memory, but it had included a giant sarcophagus, more like a humongous Pandora's box, and creepy music, and then animated ghost and goblins had swept about the room.

It was creepy. The whole place was creepy.

The bookstore was much better.

Sweeping high ceilings and neatly organized shelves, bright lighting and genuine antique fixtures, and of course, the required Starbucks, this particular Barnes and Noble was lovely, and he felt a buzz of excitement sweep over him.

This was his hometown after all. Where he'd grown up and gone to college and made his first adult friends, where he'd fallen in love and…

He derailed that thought pretty quickly.

Cas was led to a large area where chairs filled with people were neatly lined up and a table with his book, _Painted Angels_, was on display.

When the crowd caught sight of him, there was another round of applause, and the manager of the store raised her hands for quiet.

"It's my pleasure and privilege to introduce Maryland native, Castiel Novak, author of the New York Times bestseller _Painted Angels_. We're incredibly excited to have him here today. Castiel will be answering questions about the book and signing copies afterward. So without further ado, please give a warm welcome to Castiel Novak!"

There was another round of applause, and Castiel smiled at his audience.

He wasn't surprise to see so many same-sex couples in the crowd; after all, his book was the first same-sex romance to gross such high sales and become a total crossover success. There was a movie in the works, and some were predicting it would be as big of a success as _Brokeback Mountain_.

Cas read a short passage from the book, then opened the floor for questions.

A pretty girl in the front row with hot pink dreads raised her hand and Cas smiled and pointed to her. "Yes, miss?"

"Hi, I was wondering who Dean is?"

The blood drained from his face. He'd had no trouble answering this question in the other cities on his book tour and it was always asked.

The dedication in the front of the book read _For Dean, Always_, so someone at each signing inevitably asked who he was. But here, just a breath's away from his memories, Cas found himself choking on the words. He took a deep breath and steeled his shoulders.

"Dean is, _was_, the inspiration for the character of David in the book. I was the inspiration for Carver. The book is based on the relationship I had in college."

Another hand raised. "Are you still together?"

Castiel sighed. "No. Carver and David got their happy ending. Dean and Castiel didn't."

"What happened?"

"Uh…well, Dean's family…they caused some problems that were apparently insurmountable, and we…we drifted apart. It's the problems David conquers in the book. Dean wasn't…he wasn't able to…" Cas trailed off, staring into space for a moment. "I'm sorry, I'd honestly rather not talk about that."

Another hand raised in the back. "Was the real Dean a painter as well?"

"Yes. An extremely talented one. He was accepted to the Maryland Institute on a full scholarship. His specialty, like David's in the book, was incredible, massive, mixed media paintings of angels. When I met him, he was in the middle of four pieces, each ten by sixteen feet. Each one depicted an archangel; Michael, Gabriel, Lucifer, and Raphael. He mixed paint with unusual found objects such as car parts, nails, glass, broken pieces of tile and wood. I remember he'd made Michael's halo out of a hubcap. They were…amazing. Transcendent. To this day, I've seen nothing like them." Cas couldn't help the wistful tone in his voice.

"Are all the places in the book real places? Do those people really exist?"

Cas smiled, remembering friendly places and beloved faces. People he hasn't seen in years. "Yes. I changed the names of the people and places, but if you're a tried and true "Bawlmer" native, you could probably figure out which neighborhood it is."

"Have you seen Dean since then?"

"No. I haven't. I doubt he wants to see me."

"Ok, I think that's enough questions for now," the perky manager smiled out at the crowd. "Let's go ahead and set up for the book signing!"

Over the next hour, Cas signed and posed for pictures with the fans. He heard many heartening stories about how David's character helped someone else come to terms with their own sexuality, how the book helped a young lesbian's parent's accept her and her girlfriend as a couple. It was stories like that that made Cas smile. He'd never imagined when he started writing _Painted Angels_ that the book would have such an impact.

He signed and signed and signed, and towards the end of the hour, his Starbucks cup was empty, his right hand was slightly cramped, and he wasn't quite looking up at everyone that came to the table.

The last person in line was wearing jeans and a green denim jacket. An incredibly tattered copy of the book was set down in front of him, open to the dedication page.

Cas read the script, the familiar _For Dean, Always_ making his stomach twinge. "Who do I make it out to?" he asked, unable to tear his eyes from the words.

The voice was deep, but quiet, hesitant, and the answer was simple.

"To Dean."

* * *

He'd almost turned around three times that Saturday morning.

It was cold out, and he was behind on his lesson plans for the coming week, and there were things he needed to do at the house. He kept finding more and more excuses, but come noon, Dean Winchester found himself parking the Impala in a downtown parking garage, making his way across Pratt Street and into the bookstore.

He followed the trail of excited chatter up to the second floor, coming around the corner just in time to hear his voice, same gravelly inflection that still haunted his dreams. Dean clutched his tattered copy of _Painted Angels_ in his sweaty palm.

His breath caught in his lungs.

Twelve years later, and he could still remember how those lips tasted.

Cas looked amazing, in a blue V-neck sweater that matched his eyes and tight black jeans. His face was a little older maybe, but he was just as beautiful as Dean remembered.

His cheeks flushed at that thought, and he again felt the urge to run, but instead, he forced himself into a seat in the back of the crowd. Dean pulled his Chevy ball cap down over his eyes, praying that Cas wouldn't notice him sitting all the way in the back.

Dean almost got up and left several times, his cheeks catching fire repeatedly, listening to Castiel talk about their relationship and then waxing poetic about his paintings.

He didn't paint anymore. Not like that. Hadn't in a long time, in fact.

Then, they wrapped everything up, and folks got in line for autographs. His stomach danced, butterflies doing a wild fandango. Dean felt like he was going to throw up. He ran. He found a bathroom and he hid in there for forty-five minutes. Then he sulked around the shelves near the autograph table.

Finally, there was only one person left in line.

Screwing his courage to the wall, he slid into line behind her, opening his book to the page. That page. The one where is name lived, the page that told the whole world…

Dammit.

He almost left the line, and then it was his turn. He was the only one left.

Cas didn't look up, and Dean slid the book onto the table with shaking hands.

"Who do I make it out to?" Cas asked quietly, tiredness in his voice.

He took a deep breath, and responded, "To Dean."

* * *

He looked exactly the same. Same freckles. Same plush full lips. Same sparkling green eyes.

He'd gotten lost in those eyes once. There were crinkles in the corners now, but age had been kind, and all Castiel could do was stare up at him.

"Dean…" Cas whispered. He couldn't tear his eyes from him. The other man smiled, slightly sheepish.

"Hey, Cas," he replied quietly.

"Wait, wait, wait, is this him? Is this _the_ Dean?" Castiel's agent, Becky Rosen, squealed in his ear.

"Yes, this is _the_ Dean."

Dean blushed, soft pink blooming across his cheekbones. God, Castiel had forgotten he blushed easily.

Meanwhile, Becky had moved around the table and was practically shaking Dean's hand off. "Oh my god, I'm so happy to meet you, I've heard so much about you, but you don't look like he described David in the book, but that's ok, you're so handsome anyway, although David in the book is more my type, but oh my god, you're here, you're really here…"

"Becky!"

"Yeah, Cas?"

"Take a breath."

She giggled, "Sorry. I'm just excited."

Castiel smiled indulgently at her, and closed Dean's book. "Dean," he said, as he stood. "Let me buy you a cup of coffee. If that's ok?"

"Yeah," the other man said, cheeks pinking again, "that would be cool."

"Starbucks ok?" he asked, handing back the book.

"Sure. It's convenient right?" Dean chuckled. He took the book and turned and walked away, towards the Starbucks in the store, and as Cas watched him go, he couldn't help but remember the first time he met him.

* * *

August 2000

Castiel Novak stood in front of the former firehouse, double checking the piece of paper in his hand.

The big doors were thrown open, and Led Zeppelin's _Travelin' Riverside Blues_ drifted out into the street. Robert Plant was imploring someone to squeeze his lemon, and over that, another voice could be heard singing along with him.

Checking the address, he ascertained, that yes, he was in the right place, and stepped in through the open doorway.

Large scaffolding was set up along the back wall of what must have been the engine bay once upon a time, and leaning up against a wall was an enormous canvas. There was a man on top of the scaffold, the source of the voice singing along with the vinyl record he spied on a turntable sitting on a stack of old milk crates.

He was wearing nothing save a pair of ratty paint stained jeans and a red bandana around his head, sweat dripping down the freckled planes of his back. There was a set of wings tattooed there, the feathers trailing down his back and down his arms to the very tops of his wrists. They moved with the muscles of his back and arm. There were more inked designs meandering into his jeans and Castiel's mouth went dry at the thought of following those patterns down into his jeans.

He seemed completely oblivious to Castiel's presence, singing and wiping swathes of red paint across the top of his canvas with his bare hand.

Castiel was transfixed.

"Castiel?" a deep voice called from nearby. A young black man stepped out of the stairwell to his left, a smile on his face. "Vic Henrikson. You're here about the roommate ad?" He offered his hand, and Castiel took it, returning the hearty handshake.

"Yes. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too man. By the way," he said, waving absently over his shoulder, "that's Dean, but he's in the zone right now, so we'll talk to him later. He don't hear shit when he's in painting mode. C'mon upstairs and I'll show you around."

"Ok," Castiel said easily, sparing one last look at the man on the scaffolding before following Vic up the stairs.

The upstairs of the firehouse was big and roomy. There was an industrial kitchen with a breakfast bar, a huge TV on one wall and a state of the art stereo system. A big sectional couch and a couple of recliners were parked in front of it. A baby grand piano sat under one window, a couple of guitars flanking it.

"So this is the main room, used to be the bunk area and kitchen of the fire house. There's three bedrooms, the big one is Dean's," Vic pointed to the middle one, "that one's mine, and the one next to it would be yours. And then we all share the bathroom, which is huge too, cause y'know, firemen. Dean and I each claimed a toilet stall, and you can do that too. There's another bathroom downstairs, but it's just a couple toilets and a sink."

"It's a huge space," Castiel said, taking everything in. He peeked into the bedroom Vic indicated would be his. It was spacious and airy. There were big windows everywhere and built in bookshelves. It was damn near perfect. "Are you sure the rent's only $350 a month?"

"Yup. Dean sold a big set of paintings last year and made a ton of money of it, so he bought this place outright. He brings in roommates 'cause he don't really like being alone, and the rent helps with his utilities and art supplies. He's on a full scholarship at MICA so he don't worry about payin' for school or nothing."

"Wow."

Vic sighed. "There's one more thing. Dean ain't exactly easy to live with."

"How so?"

"Well…he can be kind of…weird. He's an artist, y'know? He gets in this weird space where he eats, breathes, and sleeps his paintings. Hell, sometimes he don't sleep or eat at all. I've seen him go a couple of days without sleep, just paint paint paint. And his type of art is unusual. He's a mixed-media artist, so he brings weird shit home sometimes. He's loud. He likes his music. And he stress bakes sometimes. And sometimes he sits up playing piano all night. He's weird dude. We've had trouble keeping roommates. He don't bother me at all, I'm used to him, but…"

"An artist that stress bakes and plays music? Where's the downside? I have a pile of brothers. I can deal with Dean's weirdness. Believe me. The space is fantastic, the rent is good, and it's close to campus. I'm in."

A big smile lights Vic's face. "Great! That's great!"

"When can I move in?"

"First month's rent dude, and whenever you got a minute. The room's ready to go, and hell, we'll help you carry stuff up the steps."

"Excellent. I'll bring you the cash tomorrow and I'd like to move in Saturday if that's ok?"

"Ok? It's great! Dude, welcome to Remington!"

"Remington?"

"Yeah, man, this part of B-more is called Remington. You ain't from Maryland?"

"Yes, but from up around Hereford, close to the Pennsylvania border. My family never much cared for the city."

"Oh dude. Well, we'll have to educate you in the finer points of city living."

"Sounds good."

"Yup," Vic moved towards the stairwell, "let's head downstairs, and I'll try and introduce you to our fearless leader, if I can snap him out of Picasso mode for a minute."

Back down in the engine bay, Castiel took in the space. He could see the door to the bathroom, but everything else was clearly Dean's studio.

In one corner were some large wooden crates, seeming to hold all sorts of car parts, hubcaps, hood ornaments, and other stuff. There was a Rubbermaid tote full of broken glass, another full of broken chunks of tile, yet another with stones of various sizes. There were metal pieces leaning up against walls, strange fixtures and architectural elements spread around the floor.

Closer to the front door was a large tan canvas sheet covering something car-shaped, something _big_ and car-shaped, and Castiel could see a tire and a flash of chrome underneath.

The music had changed, a loud electric guitar riff, and Jimi Hendrix's _Foxy Lady_ echoed off of concrete walls.

Dean was down a level on the scaffold, hand covered in angry red paint, leaving splotches and smears along the canvas.

"Yo, Dean!" Vic called. Dean jumped slightly, and turned.

Castiel's breath caught in his throat.

The most beautiful man he'd ever seen was glaring down at him and Vic, grass green eyes sparkling in the reflected sunlight, plush pink lips pulled into a scowl. He had a smear of red paint over his right eyebrow.

"What? I'm busy."

"No kiddin', asshat, but this guy here's just agreed to be our new roommate. Think you could act like a human for a minute?"

Dean's eyes swept over Castiel, making him feel hot all over. He grabbed a rag and wiped the red paint from his hand, then made a graceful leap off the scaffold, grabbing onto the brass fire pole in mid-air, gliding smoothly to the ground.

"Showoff," Vic muttered.

He strode across the floor towards them, all loose and easy movements, noticeable swagger in his stride, but it didn't look forced, it just looked like a part of him.

Dean held his hand out, and Castiel noticed that there was still some red paint, but he didn't care, taking Dean's hand anyway. "Dean Winchester, I own this here artistic circus."

Vic snorted, and Dean glared at him. "Shuddup, Victor."

"Whatever. This is Castiel Novak, Dean."

Green eyes lit up. "Castiel? That's an angelic name, right? Angel of Thursday?"

"Yes," Castiel replied, instantly impressed, "how did you know?" His eyes swept over Dean's bare chest, taking in even more tattoos, one of which was a star surrounded by flames on the upper part of the left pectoral. There was also a brass horned amulet on a leather cord around his neck.

"Dude, angels are like, I dunno, my thing," he indicated the canvas behind him. "That's Lucifer. He's part of a series, I'm doing the archangels. Lucifer, Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael."

Castiel couldn't help himself. He snorted. Dean whirled back towards him, a stormy look on his face.

"Why is that funny?" He demanded.

"No, it's not, not really. Just, my parents are incredibly religious. I have brothers with those names."

Dean stared a moment, as if trying to work out whether or not Castiel was messing with him.

"Dude, you're family's weird," he said finally.

"Tell me something I don't know," Castiel replied with a smile. Dean threw his head back and laughed.

"You're alright, Cas. You're alright."

Three days later, Castiel become a part of Dean's world, and his life changed forever.


	2. Burned Bridges

"So New York Times bestseller? Pretty awesome, Cas," Dean smiled across the small table as he sipped his black coffee.

"I was surprised by the book's success," Castiel admitted. "I think it's because my main character is so likable." He smiled back at Dean, and the other man's cheeks tinged pink again.

"I dunno about that."

"David's a lot like you. All the best parts of your personality."

"Yeah, but the height, hair and muscles? You totally described Sam."

Cas chuckled. "Yes. I did have Sam in mind. And I described myself like Victor."

"Yup, I noticed that."

He took another sip of his latte. "How are they? Sam and Victor?"

"Well Vic's down in DC, working at the FBI, profiling or something like that. He just got married last year. Sammy's still single, but happy as hell. He's in DC too, works as a researcher at the Smithsonian. They actually pay him to bury his nose in old books."

"Dear god, does he ever leave?" Cas asked with a smile.

Dean chuckled. "Occasionally. He looks the part, hair longer than ever, reading glasses, ratty tweed jacket with elbow patches…he's in Sammy heaven down there. He's got this perfect little condo, just loaded with old books and I swear, sometimes he forgets there's a world outside the door. Sometimes I manage to drag him away for dinner or a ball game or something. He always manages to get his gym time in though. He's the nutty professor but he's built like The Rock or something."

Castiel chuckled, swirling the remains of the liquid in his cup.

"How's your family?" Dean asked.

"Better. Things are…better. My father is his usual pleasant self, and my mother is still nutty as ever, but it's been…since the book was released, and they all read it, they've come to understand me more. She calls me a lot still, but she's not so critical of me now. She's much more pleasant. I still see Gabriel the most, we took a vacation to Tijuana over the summer and that was quite a bit of fun, although he still lacks the ability to 'keep it in his pants' which can be very embarrassing at times."

Dean threw his head back to laugh, and Cas's eyes trailed the column of his throat. "Sounds like Gabe. Remember, he tried picking Pam up that one time? She wasn't having it."

"No, she wasn't. Pam was always a feisty one." He took a last sip of his coffee then sat the empty cup on the table. "Do you still see them? The old crowd? I think about them often."

The other man stared down at the table, and reached up to scratch the back of his neck. "No, not really. I'm pretty busy these days. I live out in the County, and just…don't have much time."

"Still painting?"

Dean laughed again, but it wasn't a real laugh, it was forced, and it was bitter around the edges. "Not really. I teach. I teach art at Parkville High."

"An art teacher? You always were good with kids, so that's not surprising, but Dean, you had jobs lined up. Commissions. What happened?"

He wouldn't meet Cas's eyes, Dean just stared into his coffee, like the half empty cup held all the answers.

"You left."

The air left Cas's lungs in a rush, and he realized, this was it. This was why Dean had sought him out. This was their second chance, the big do-over, and as the other man continued staring into his cup, Castiel felt the first warm stirrings of hope inside him, blooming like morning glories at sunrise.

Dean was the one who'd gotten away. Never mind that Cas was the one that left. Dean slipped through his fingers pure and simple, and this was their second chance.

"Let me take you to dinner. Please?"

Startled, Dean looked up, and blinked, but didn't meet Castiel's eyes. "Cas…"

"We can start over. Get to know each other again?" Castiel kept his tone light, casual, not wanting to spook Dean.

"Cas." Dean fidgeted, playing with the cup in his hand. "I can't. I'm…I'm…"

"What?" Cas asked him softly.

There was pain in green irises, when he finally let his eyes meet Cas's, then he stood abruptly. "I'm getting married. In four weeks." Dean snatched his jacket off the chair. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come."

And just like that, the moment was gone, the mood shattered, and then Dean was gone as well, disappearing into the Saturday evening crowd, vanishing before Castiel could even begin to comprehend what had just happened, his tattered copy of _Painted Angels_ the only evidence that he'd ever been there at all.

* * *

He got in the Impala and just drove, upset and preoccupied, and wasn't at all surprised when he found himself in front of Sam's condo.

Sam answered before Dean even knocked, reading glasses holding back his long hair. "Thank god. Anna's been calling everyone and you didn't answer your phone."

Dean patted his pockets, pulling the phone out of his jacket. The screen was blank, and didn't respond when he pushed the buttons. "Guess the battery's dead?" He poked at it again.

"Where the hell did you go anyway? She said you were acting all cagey."

"Went somewhere I shouldn't have," he muttered. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah," Sam held the door open for him, stepping to the side to let him in. As usual, every available surface was covered with books, fiction, non-fiction, modern, historical, it was a mix of everything, and it was very Sam. His Macbook sat glowing in the middle of his dining room table, surrounded on all sides by texts of various sizes, shapes, and ages.

All the books made him realize, with a pang, that he'd left his copy of Cas's book on the table in Starbucks. He felt inexplicably sad. Sure, he could buy another copy, just that one…that one was _his_.

"Somewhere you shouldn't have gone. Anything to do with this?" Sam tossed the Arts and Entertainment section of the Baltimore Sun on the coffee table, the page folded open to a full color picture of Cas, and details about the book signing. Sam was watching him, as he pulled his jacket off, dropping it over a chair.

"Am I that obvious?"

"Yes."

Dean sighed, and sank into the couch. "Well, it was a dumb idea. A really dumb idea." He ran a hand through his hair. "Can I stay here tonight? I'm not ready to go home."

"No, you're not ready to face Anna. But yeah, call me crazy, you can stay here tonight. Wanna get Chinese?"

"Sure."

"I'm guessing there's no way in hell I'm gonna get you to talk about this?"

Dean snorted. "Yeah. Not gonna happen."

"Fine." Sam tossed him a phone. "At least call Anna and let her know where you are. I've got a spare phone charger around here somewhere." He left the living room, leaving Dean alone with his guilty conscience and the phone.

He stared at the phone, finally dialing Anna's number with a sigh. She picked up on the first ring.

"_Sam? Have you heard from him?"_

"No, it's…it's me."

"_Oh my god, Dean! I've been trying to call you for hours! Where is your phone?"_

Dean squirmed. "I'm sorry, the battery died. Didn't have a charger in the Impala."

"_Why are you at Sam's? We had a date tonight, remember?"_

"I'm sorry, babe, I guess I forgot."

Anna grew quiet, and he could picture her tapping her index finger against her bottom lip, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with her fiancé this time.

"_Are you ok?" _she finally asked.

"Yeah, probably just a case of pre-wedding jitters, right?"

"_Yeah…"_ Anna sighed. _"So we're off for tonight?"_

"If that's ok? I could leave now…"

"_No, maybe you just need some brother bonding time or something."_ He could hear her forcing cheerfulness into her voice, and it bugged him. It bugged him that he brought her to this.

"I'm sorry, Anna. I really am."

"_It's ok."_ She sighed very softly again. _"You'd tell me if there was something going on with you, right?"_

Dean let his head loll against the back of the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. "Yeah, babe, I would."

"_Ok,"_ she replied, and Dean could hear her smile. She believed him. And that made him feel guilty as hell for the lie. _"So, I'll see you tonight? Or are you staying?"_

"Yeah, we're gonna get Chinese and watch a movie or something. I'll see you in the morning, baby."

"_Ok,"_ she said again, more forced cheerfulness. _"I love you."_

"I know," he said quietly, and shut off the phone. He sat up, laid the phone on the coffee table and buried his face in his hands.

He felt Sam sit down next to him, heard the beer bottles being set on the table. His brother handed a spare set of sweats to sleep in. Sam, being his usual intuitive self, didn't say anything, just flipped the TV on. The Chinese came, and they ate quietly. He could practically feel Sam's disapproval radiating off of him when he drank his entire flask of Jack Daniel's, but his brother still didn't say anything.

Sam's presence was reassuring, and as they watched the movie, Dean drifted further and further into his brother's space, the weight of the day bearing down on him. At one point he blinked awake, and his head was on a pillow in Sam's lap, his brother's fingers idly rubbing his scalp, just like he had done for Sam when they were children and Sam had a nightmare.

Normally, Dean wouldn't allow it, the gesture being entirely too touchy-feely for him, but it'd been a long day. He was tired, and emotionally drained. He simply did not have it in him to care. It was warm and comforting, and he dozed off again.

He dreamt of blue eyes, of skin on skin and murmured words, half-formed breaths in the dark, fingers on his hips, and oil paint. He dreamt in bright colors and blurry images. He dreamt of broken glass and piano keys and the smell of beer and linseed oil.

Dean sat up with a gasp on Sam's couch, the room dark, Sam gone, and he was covered with a fleece blanket. His shirt was glued to his skin with sweat and his hands were shaking.

He'd like to say it had been years since he dreamt of the old days, but it wasn't. It had been just a few days. The dreams had increased in frequency after he'd read the book and they'd picked up even more since the announcement of the book signing.

Running a hand down his face, he pulled himself off the couch and wandered into the kitchen.

There was no more beer in Sam's fridge, just wine and asstons of fruit and veggies and some incredibly unappealing looking chicken. He snatched a bottle of water and grumbled under his breath as he opened it, walking through the condo until he stood at the balcony doors.

Fat snowflakes drifted lazily to the ground. Dean was surprised, he didn't know snow was in the forecast. But then, he hadn't been paying attention to much of anything since he saw the ad for the book signing. Even his students had noticed he was only half there during the course of the week.

For some reason, the kids liked him, and had tried cheering him up, even dragging some of the other teachers in on it. In the end, he'd done what he always did- faked it. It worked, mostly.

The snow was mesmerizing, but his thoughts were million miles away, and he just couldn't get Cas's face out of his mind.

* * *

September 2000

"So that's Benny's. That's where we all drink. And then Roadhouse Café, that's Ellen and Bobby's place, they're a couple old farts that love me like a son, so I don't pay for shit in there. Sometimes I play guitar or something in there, and I make them keep all the tips, and sometimes I'll work a shift at the grill. I won't let 'em pay me nothing." Dean pointed across Remington Avenue to another store front, with the words "Death Threads" over the picture window, and some vintage clothes hanging around.

"That's Tessa's joint, she sells awesome old clothes. Got this super awesome Zep shirt there last week. She's hot, by the way. Next to her place is Pam's place, Psychic Ink. She's also crazy hot. Sometimes I work there too, and she did all the work on me. Then Retro Records is run by a coupla stoners, Andy and Ash. They're awesome and actually carry vinyl, dude."

Cas nodded, eyes sweeping the street. Music echoed down Remington, guitars and a snare drum, a couple of people just hanging around in the street singing.

A Saturday afternoon in the neighborhood always made Dean happy. He loved his neighborhood and never wanted to leave, which is why he bought the firehouse in the first place. He loved the vibe, and the people, and how close he was to school.

Vic was a great friend, a great roommate, Benny was his adopted brother, Bobby and Ellen his adopted parents, hell, everyone was family. He was a several hundred miles from home, and even though he missed his brother, Sammy, something awful, he was out on his own, doing what he wanted.

Despite his damn dad.

The man next to him smiled as they walked down the street, back towards the Roadhouse. With any luck, Jo would be off doing something else, and he and Cas could have breakfast in peace and get to know each other a bit.

Cas was a mystery, and Dean had, up until this point, been too busy with Lucifer to have a moment to talk to his new roommate.

Today, he'd woken up and simply decided he would take some time to show Cas around and talk with the guy. He knew he'd probably made one hell of an impression already, being completely absorbed in his archangel project, busy attaching the glass shards to the canvas. It was annoying, and horribly time consuming, but it was going to be worth it in the end.

Dean pushed open the door to the Roadhouse, not at all surprised to find Benny already holding court at a table, Ellen resting her hand on his shoulder as she refilled his coffee. Bobby was at the grill, happily flipping pancakes and humming to himself, trucker cap firmly in place per usual. His old buddy, Rufus, was sitting at the bar, working his way through a big stack of pancakes and a Baltimore Sun Sports section, bitching and moaning about the Ravens to anybody who would listen.

Jo was nowhere to be seen, Dean thought happily, as he slid into his favorite booth. Cas sat across from him, reaching for the menu Dean was handing him.

"So, we're not far from Mount Vernon here, and the art museum's not too far either. I go there sometimes for inspiration. I like the Renaissance painters, and the medieval angel paintings. I mean, mine are really different from say, Michelangelo, but still, there's inspiration there. And when we've got some free time, I'll take you down to the Visionary Art museum in Federal Hill. I've actually got a piece in there now. Love that place."

Cas nodded, still staring at the menu. Ellen sidled over, put her hand on Dean's shoulder, tapping it. He got the idea and slid over so Ellen could plop down on the bench.

"Hey there kiddo. Who's this?" she asked pleasantly.

"My new roommate," Dean announced proudly, "Castiel Novak."

Ellen smiled and stretched her hand over the table, and Cas shook it. "Nice to meet you sugar. I am sorry about your accommodations, this one ain't easy to live with."

"Hey," Dean protested.

"Is for horses. Castiel? Would you like some coffee?"

Cas smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. "Yes, ma'am, thank you."

"Don't you _yes ma'am_ me. But you could teach Dean here some of your nice manners."

"Hey!" Dean exclaimed again.

"It's the truth. You want coffee too?"

"Yes, _please_," Dean smirked.

"See, was that so hard?"

Dean didn't answer her and she left to fetch their coffee.

"I like her," Cas smiled.

"Me, too," Dean answered honestly. "She's good to me."

Ellen returned with their coffee and took their orders, pancakes, eggs, and bacon for Dean, and pancakes and sausage for Cas.

"So where you from?" Dean asked, when she'd left again.

"Up around Hereford, close to the PA line. You?"

"Tiny little town about fifteen minutes west of Charleston, West Virginia. Hicksville USA. I hated it. Couldn't wait to get out. I was born in Lawrence, Kansas, but my mom…we left when I was really little, and my dad moved us around a lot, and we just ended up there." Dean picked up his coffee cup, and took a long drag.

"And you're a student at the Maryland Institute?"

"Yup," Dean said proudly. "Built a solid portfolio in High School and managed to get a full ride, which is great, because Dad wasn't…well he didn't want to pay for art school, that's for damn sure."

Dean would never forget the day he told John Winchester he wanted to study art. That had been an interesting day, notable for the fact he discovered many new words in his father's vocabulary and acquired a new scar on his scalp. At least his hair hid it.

"I'm on a full scholarship too, but my parents would have paid. They approve of me majoring in English I guess."

"UMBC, right?"

"Yes," Cas said, sipping his coffee. "Vic goes there too, right?"

"Yeah, criminal justice major. You'd never know he's got a future as a cop when you see him drink though!" Dean chuckled. He was just about to ask Cas about his family when his plate was unceremoniously dropped onto the table, his bacon bouncing off the edge.

"What the…" He looked up, into a set of flashing, angry brown eyes.

"You think you're funny?" Jo snarled, angry pinking the tops of her cheeks.

"Uhhh," Dean stammered, looking across the table at Cas, who was watching in bemusement, his own plate having been politely set in front of him. "Um, Jo, this is Cas, my new room…"

"I don't care. I'm pissed. You had no right, Dean Winchester!"

"Jo, look, I'm sure I did something pretty stupid, since that's the norm for me anyway, but seriously I have no idea…"

"You seriously don't know?" Fury danced in her eyes, and she flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder. "You. Are. An. Asshole." And with that, she spun on her heel, stalking away from the table, completely ignoring Benny's request for more coffee.

He met Benny's eyes, finding a twinkle there as his friend grinned and winked at him.

"What was that all about?" Cas asked.

"Hell if I know. That woman's crazy." Dean dug into his breakfast, and he and Cas shared a companionable silence as they ate. Benny swung by the table and introduced himself, as did Bobby and Rufus, and Ellen said she had no clue what Jo's deal was, and that he was on his own.

They left a little while later, bellies full, and Dean was already covered in paint and surrounded by Lucifer's glass pieces before he realized he had told Cas a bunch of stuff about himself, but hadn't gotten much out of Cas at all.

He smiled, and smeared a little bit of red on Lucifer's forehead, mentally resolving to get Cas to Benny's that night, get him good and drunk, and pump the man for all his secrets.

Castiel Novak fascinated him. And he had no idea why.


	3. Things We Didn't Learn in School

___Thanks for the amazing response to this story! I love you guys._

* * *

_September 2000_

Dear god, he was shirtless again.

Cas watched as Dean stretched his arm towards the top of the Lucifer canvas, the ink feathers tattooed on his back fluttering with the movement of his muscles. The jeans he had on slipped down farther, dangerously close to showing off more of him than Castiel was prepared to deal with.

Led Zeppelin's _Houses of the Holy_ echoed in the engine bay, loud to the point that it was hurting his ears a bit.

Dean had a paint-stained Baltimore Ravens ball cap on backwards and was soaked in sweat. He was painstakingly affixing shards of glass to the area above Lucifer's head. The glass arched over the angel, forming something like a halo.

He was completely unaware of Cas's presence, standing there with his Schwinn and his book bag, mesmerized by the movements of the man on the scaffold.

"Don't bug him. He'll get pissy."

The voice came from behind him, and he turned to see Jo standing there, a wistful expression on her face.

"I thought you were mad at him."

"I am. But Mom sent me up with dinner for him or he won't eat. He's a little ridiculous when he gets this close to being done with a painting. Anyway," she handed him a bag, "it's a bacon cheeseburger and fries, and a piece of apple pie. Just set it up there, he'll find it eventually." She turned to leave.

"Jo?"

"Yeah?" she asked, turning back with a flip of her blonde hair.

"Why are you mad at him?"

Her face turned stormy. "That is so not any of your business. Let's just say, that boy can't keep it in his pants." She flounced out of the engine bay, and didn't look back.

Cas sighed, and set the bag down on one of the upended crates. He leaned his bike up against the car-shaped lump of tan canvas and slid out of the straps of his book bag, setting it down near the bike. Then he grabbed the bag again and started the awkward one-handed climb up the scaffold.

Dean didn't notice him. At all. He was deeply immersed in attaching the glass and singing along with Robert Plant.

"Dean," Cas said softly, not wanting to spook him. Dean jumped a bit anyway, then turned with a scowl, the pissed-off look fading into a grin when he saw Cas.

"Food?" he asked, smiling down at the bag.

"Yes."

"Awesome!" Dean wiped his hands on a rag, then motioned for Cas to set the bag down. He did, then turned to go. "Dude stay. You hungry? I guarantee Ellen sent me two burgers and a metric fuckton of fries. Sit down and eat with me."

"Ok. I'll go grab a couple of beers first."

"That's a plan. Grab the ketchup too."

Cas nodded, then shimmied back down the scaffold. Upstairs, he snagged the beers and the ketchup. He was on his way back down the stairs when he spied the fire pole.

He'd been living in the firehouse for almost two weeks and still hadn't been brave enough to try it.

A thrill of daring swept through him. He stashed the beer cans in the pockets of his worn cargo pants, and shoved the ketchup into his back pocket. He took a deep breath, then grabbed the pole.

He shrieked as he slid down, the ride a little faster than he was expecting, and he landed hard but triumphant.

"Ha! I was wondering when you'd get ballsy enough to try that." Dean called down from the top of the scaffold.

"That was…exhilarating."

Dean laughed. "Get up here, man, these burgers aren't going to eat themselves."

Cas was still giddy and laughing when he reached the top of the scaffold. Dean was sitting cross legged and had the foam take out box opened, the contents carefully divided. "I don't know why she sends me so much food. I mean, I can eat, but two double cheeseburgers? She's gonna send me to an early grave!" He grabbed a burger out of the box. "Eat up man."

Castiel plopped down across from him, opened his beer and pulled his own burger out, moaning happily around the first bite of juicy, cheesy, bacon-y joy.

"Really like your burgers, huh?"

He nodded. "These make me very happy."

"I can see that."

"Mmm. My parents…don't go in for this type of food. I gained almost thirty pounds freshman year. Burgers and fries and pizza and chips and cupcakes. I kinda went a little bit nuts."

"Pie?"

"Dear god, yes, I love pie."

Dean's grin was blinding. "Me too. Pie is my favorite."

They munched in silence for a while, Dean staring up at his canvas, and Castiel studying the tattoo on the lower left-hand side of Dean's chest.

It was beautiful woman, blonde curls surrounding her softly smiling face and green eyes shaped like Dean's. She had a halo over her head and ethereal white wings spread behind her. Along the bottom hem of her white gown was a banner with the initials _MW_ and the dates _12-5-54 to 11-2-83_.

He was staring long enough that he didn't realize Dean was staring back at him. "That's my mom," he said quietly. Cas jumped, unprepared for his voice. "She died when I was little." He looked down at the tattoo, absently running his hand down it. "She was my first angel," he said softly. "The first one I painted."

"She's beautiful."

"She was. She was all warmth and sunshine and cinnamon." Dean's eyes lost focus as he gazed out into the engine bay. "I remember her getting up early and making pie and singing and just scooping me up into hugs. She used to tell me angels were watching over me. I guess it stuck and that's why I paint angels."

"You know," Cas said thoughtfully, "I've been here two weeks and barely know anything about you."

"I could say the same." Dean cleaned up the burger mess and shoved the tray back in the bag. He opened the smaller container and made a happy noise when he found two pieces of pie inside. "Apple! My fave." He moved one slice into the lid, then separated the lid from the bottom, handing a piece of pie to Cas. "So we're sharing dinner," he said, spearing a piece of the pie with a plastic fork, "and we should get to know each other."

Castiel nodded. "What would you like to know?"

"Tell me about your family. Do you really have a brother named Lucifer?"

"Yes," Castiel scowled. "He's an asshole. Thinks he owns the world and the rest of us exist to serve him. He's really not that far off the original. I'm closest to my older brothers, Michael and Gabe. We've always gotten along well."

"I'm pretty close with Sammy. He's my younger brother. Four years younger."

"I have a younger brother too, Raphael. He's ten years younger. Mother calls him her surprise."

Dean smiled. "You get along with your folks?"

"For the most part. My mother can be overbearing at times. You?"

"Yeah, not so much. My dad…" Dean snorted. "He's a piece of work." He shoved all the trash back into the plastic bag and stood, brushing crumbs off his jeans. "I told him I wanted to go to art school and he told me he wasn't paying for his kid to become some "faggot art loser". So I built my portfolio, and applied to schools on the side. My high school art teacher let me use his address for the aps. Maryland Institute offered a free ride and I got the fuck out of West Virginia."

He knotted the bag of trash and dropped it off the side of the scaffold.

"You've sold several paintings right? So why bother with school at all? You're already successful enough to have bought this place."

"I need that piece of paper. Sure, the commissions are rolling in now. I'm the new thing, the new kid on the block. A certain crowd with a disposable income likes what I'm doing. So I'm making money. Next year, someone else might be the hot new thing. And if I drop out, then what? What do I fall back on? If I have the diploma, I could teach. I'd still be able to have some type of income."

"I understand. But you want to be a painter, right?"

"Ideally? Yes." Dean gazed up at Lucifer. "There's still so many projects I want to do. I want to do a modernized version of some of Reni's work. A punk version of those god-awful cherubs that pop up on everything from mugs to check book covers. I want to do a version of Michelangelo's Pieta but with a modern woman holding a soldier in her arms." Dean swigged the rest of his beer. "Most of all, I want to prove my father wrong."

"You will. You're talented. Your paintings are like nothing I've ever seen."

The other man turned to him, green eyes sparkling. "Thanks, Cas," he said softly.

"You're welcome."

Dean didn't look away, neither did Cas, they just kind of stared at each other.

A car backfired on Remington, and they both jumped. Cas was sad to see the moment broken. He could easily spend a day staring into Dean's eyes, cataloging each individual shade of gold and green. He wondered when he'd gotten so damn sappy.

"Come on, man," Dean said, "let's go to Benny's. I'll buy you a beer and you can tell me more about what a jerk Lucifer is. And tell me about all your brothers, since I'm painting them."

"Ok."

Castiel watched as Dean leapt off the scaffold, jumping onto the pole and sliding the rest of the way down. He turned and looked up at Castiel. "Go for it," he grinned, a challenge in his voice.

Cas hesitated. The scaffold was a solid four feet from the pole.

Dean cleared his throat loudly, still grinning like an idiot.

Taking a deep breath, Castiel threw caution to the wind and leapt from the platform. He caught the pole and slid down, not as gracefully as Dean, but landing solidly just the same.

"Nice!" Dean cheered.

"That was fun!"

Dean grinned at him, then his eyes darkened as he looked over Cas's shoulder. "Dude. You didn't."

"What?" Cas's eyes followed Dean's, to where the other man was staring at his bike.

"I know you didn't lean your bike up against my baby, dude."

"Uhh."

"Move it. Please. You didn't know, but I swear…"

Castiel moved the bike to the side, far from the tan covered car.

"Wanna see her? She's perfect."

"Sure."

Dean grinned, grabbed one end of the canvas and pulled hard. The fabric slipped away, revealing glossy black metal and shiny chrome. There was indeed a car under there. A gorgeous sex-on-four-wheels car.

"This is my baby. A 1967 Chevrolet Impala with a 327 and a four barrel carb. I stole her from my dad the night I left for school. He surprised the fuck out of me and sent the title a week later."

"She's beautiful," Cas murmured. Dean's grin grew impossibly wider.

"Damn right. Love me, love my car. Unfortunately, she spends a lot of time in here under the cover. B-more traffic makes it a little much to drive her around all the time." Dean turned, and made for the stairs. "Ok, shower, then beer. Sound good?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Hey Cas?" Dean called from the stairwell.

"Yes, Dean?"

He poked his head back out, and the smile on his face was sweet and slightly shy.

"I'm really glad you moved in."

Then he was gone, up the stairs before Cas could say a word.

* * *

_Now_

The Impala looked exactly the same. Same glorious shiny paint and sparkling chrome, she sat like a queen amongst the newer, modern cars in the parking lot of Parkville High School.

The Monday after the book signing, Castiel parked the Prius he'd rented two spots down from Dean's baby. He retrieved the package he'd brought with him and left the car, locking the doors behind him.

He walked up the sidewalk towards the front of the school. Students were milling around, waiting for the buses to take them home or catching rides with their friends. A few stared at him like they recognized him, which wouldn't be surprising.

There was a large picture of him in the back of the book, and the book had been popular with the teen audience. Sure, he was no John Green, but he was sure some of the students staring at him with wide eyes knew exactly who he was. And normally, he would have loved to stop and talk, but he was on a mission and he wanted to catch Dean before he left for the day.

He signed in at the main office and got directions to the art hall.

Standing just outside the door, he could hear Dean inside.

"…and your monochromatic still-lifes are due by Friday. I'm looking forward to seeing the finished projects. I know how hard you guys have been working on them. I'm staying late tomorrow and Thursday, if anyone wants to hang out and get some work done. You bring the skills, I'll bring the Zep and the popcorn."

The bell rang, and a flood of students filled the hall.

A few doors down, a short redhead in a black dress and a Gryffindor scarf was watching him closely. The weight of her stare was intimidating. She looked just this side of too old to be a student. Ignoring her, Castiel slipped into the classroom.

Dean was at the front, facing away from him, pinning a picture of various bowls and other items painted all in varying shades of blue to the corkboard. He was in khaki pants and an orange plaid button down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Cas's mouth went dry as he caught sight of the tattooed feathers trailing down the back of Dean's arms.

God, he didn't know what to say.

He wanted to _do_ so many things, first and foremost sweep Dean into his arms and beg forgiveness then kiss him silly. But he couldn't.

Dean was getting married. He'd missed his chance.

Dammit.

The red head from before slipped in the other door, and perched on the first desk she came too. Dean didn't notice her either, deep in thought as he studied the blue painting.

"Yo, Winchester," she finally said.

He jumped. "What, Charlie…" he trailed off as he turned, catching sight of Cas at the back of the room.

Dean's face went white.

"Hello, Dean," Cas said quietly.

* * *

Oh fuck.

He couldn't be here, not here, not at work, not in his town, not here period. And Charlie just sat there, grinning at him.

Fuck.

"Uh…yeah," he mumbled intelligently.

Charlie snorted and he glared at her.

"Um…hey, Cas."

"Cas? As in Castiel? As in wrote _Painted Angels_ Castiel? You know, the book that's about you but isn't about you, at least that's what you keep saying, but it's totally about you, isn't it?" She said all of that without taking a breath, and Dean felt his cheeks flame.

Cas strode up the aisle between the desks, looking amazing in a pair of jeans, a black turtleneck sweater and a black leather coat. Jesus, he was still so unfairly hot.

"Castiel Novak," he smiled, holding his hand out.

"Charlie Bradbury. I teach computers. And I'm his best friend," she burbled happily. "Also, I love your book. I'm a lesbian, and do you know how hard it is to find quality stories about same sex couples? I mean, it's next to impossible, or it's all porn and no plot and no one wants that, at least not outside of fan fiction, or I don't know maybe they do, but oh my god, I love your book!"

"Thanks…"

"…but then I did figure out that it was about Dean, I just can't understand why he'd leave someone as awesome as…"

"Charlie!"

She jumped. "Sorry."

"Did you need something?" Dean asked, aware of the cold tone in his voice.

"Yes. I needed…I needed…I need to go back to my classroom. Goodbye. I'm gone." She darted out the door.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. Why are you here?"

Cas shifted uncomfortably. He set a package down on Dean's desk. "You forgot this. I wanted to return it. It's your book."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Dean squirmed, unsure of what to say.

"So I…I saw the Impala in the lot. She still looks good."

"Thanks," Dean said softly.

"Well…I guess I should…I guess I should go."

"Yeah."

Castiel turned, his shoulders slumped.

"Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for bringing me the book. You didn't have to do that."

The other man turned slowly. "Yes I did. It was obviously one of your favorites. I just thought…I just thought you'd want it back."

"Yeah. Thanks. I do appreciate it."

Cas nodded. "Dean, let me take you out to dinner. Just as friends. We can catch up- I want to hear about the old crowd and what Sam's doing and Victor. Just dinner. Just as friends. Please?"

"I don't think…"

"You can bring your fiancé. Please. I owe you. Let's be honest, this book wouldn't be so successful if it wasn't for you."

Dean dropped into his desk chair with a sigh. He toyed with some paperclips scattered across the desk top, avoiding Castiel's eyes and earnest expression. This wasn't a road he wanted to go back down and it sure as hell was a door to another life and he needed to keep that door closed, for his own sanity's sake.

So of course, when he opened his mouth to tell Cas no, the word "yes," slipped out instead.

"Great! Why don't we meet at Sotto Sopra in Mount Vernon? Friday at eight?"

"Ok."

"I can't wait to meet your fiancé. I'll see you then." Cas fumbled in his pocket for a moment, then pulled out a creased square of paper. "This is where I'm staying and my cell number. I was going to leave it, if you weren't here."

Dean took the paper and for just a brief moment, their fingers brushed.

He yanked his hand back like he'd been burned. Cas looked at him with an odd expression on his face, then set the paper down without a word.

"I'll see you Friday then," he said quietly, leaving before Dean could answer him.

At least he managed to wait until Cas was gone to bury his face in his hands.


	4. Piano Man

_Thanks for all your wonderful reviews! I love you guys! And a huge shoutout to newly minted Destiel shipper SpnBookworm! Welcome to the not-so-darkside, babe!_

* * *

It was snowing again, as Dean carefully maneuvered the Impala down Avondale Road towards Anna's little bungalow.

_Their_ little bungalow, he mentally corrected himself. He'd been living there for almost four months, since the lease on his tiny one bedroom apartment ended. It made sense, since they were getting married after all.

Christmas lights twinkled in the windows of the small house as he pulled the Impala into the driveway behind Anna's blue Civic. The snow had already covered her windows, so she'd clearly been home for a while.

Dean had left school in a daze, still completely undone by Cas's visit, and stopped at a bar on the way home and had a couple beers.

Letting himself into the house, he noted the tree stand and ornament boxes in the living room. The tree was still outside. She must have picked it up on the way home. He guessed he knew what he'd be doing that night.

Anna was sitting at the kitchen table, a steaming mug of tea at her side as she graded papers. Her red hair tumbled over her shoulder, a look of concentration on her face as she studied a student's answers.

"Hey, babe," she greeted him, not looking up.

Dean set his bag on a chair and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "Hey."

"How was work?"

"Fine. A few of the kids turned in some gorgeous album covers. I'd love to keep a few of them."

"Album covers?" she asked confusedly.

"Yeah, I let them choose an album that they loved and make their own covers. Some of them turned out amazing. Some real talented kids in my classes." He opened the fridge and dug out a beer. "I see a lot of potential there."

"Meanwhile, I'm grading English papers with unreal mistakes for a pack of eighth graders." She sighed, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. "I just went over sentence structure last week. It's like it's in one ear and out the other some days."

"That's just kids, Anna. They just forget is all."

"You're far more forgiving then I am, but then again, you're just teaching art. It's not like they need it for their futures unless they want to do graphic art or something."

Dean bit his bottom lip, deliberately ignoring the barb. Anna's whole family were teachers, but they taught things they considered important, such as English, science, and math. Dean was looked down upon by her family for teaching something "soft". He really hated it when she referred to his job as _just teaching art. _He wanted to argue with her, and bring up the stats that showed how important arts and music education really was.

"What do you want for dinner?" he asked instead.

"Not hungry. There are leftovers though, and I was hoping you could put the tree in the stand so I can decorate it." She didn't look up from her papers, didn't even seem to realize she'd hurt his feelings.

Dean sighed. "Do we have plans for Friday night?"

"No, I don't think so. I have my final dress fitting Saturday morning, but you don't get to go to that. Can't see me in it until the 28th." She grinned up at him, and he did his best to plaster on a smile that didn't look like a grimace. "Why?"

"And old friend wants to take us out to dinner. We're supposed to meet at Sotto Sopra at eight."

"What friend?"

"Uhh. Old college pal. Cas Novak." If she recognized the name, she didn't show it, just smiled and nodded.

"That sounds like fun. I like meeting your friends."

"Ok, cool…that's cool." He ducked his hot face into the fridge so Anna wouldn't see him blushing. Digging through the leftovers, he found the meatloaf and mashed potatoes he'd made Friday night. That would work. He popped the container in the microwave and sat down at the table, pulling his laptop out of his bag.

"Did you pick out a gift for your groomsmen yet? And you should get something extra special for Sam."

"No, I was going to go this weekend."

"Ok, just make sure you do it. And we have lunch with Pastor Jackson after church on Sunday. So you're going to have to actually come with me this time."

"Anna…"

"You know, for someone who used to obsess over and paint angels, you have an odd aversion to church."

"That's a little out of line."

Anna looked over her reading glasses, her brown eyes narrowed. "Just saying, Dean. I'd have thought you'd love church."

The comment about his job, and now this…something was wrong. "OK, what's going on? You're pissed about something and taking it out on me."

She sighed. "Cas Novak, huh? That's who we're going out to dinner with?"

"Yeah," Dean said warily.

"I know who he is. I've read the book. The dedication in the front, and David, the Baltimore artist that paints angels, is the main character? Did you think that I wouldn't figure out the book was about you? I'm not stupid you know. And I know that's where you were Saturday. Seeing him obviously upset you or something, or you wouldn't have ended up at Sam's."

Dean's blood ran cold.

"And now we're having dinner with him? Next thing out of your mouth better be that he's married or has a significant other."

"I don't know. I didn't ask. But I did tell him about you. He knows I'm getting married. He just wanted to have dinner and catch up."

"So you believe his intentions are innocent?"

"Yes."

"Not to mention you had this whole big gay thing in college and didn't think to mention it."

"Because it wasn't…"

"It is important!" She crossed her arms over her chest, anger written all over her pretty face. "We're getting married on December 28th. That is less than four weeks away. Things like this are important. You share sexual history with your finance. How could you keep this from me?"

"I didn't think…"

"You're right, you didn't think! So what are you? Bi, gay? Am I always going to be waiting for the other shoe to drop in this marriage? Is there going to be a marriage at all?" She was really worked up, screaming now, and Dean dropped his face into his hands.

"It's not like that, Anna, I swear. Cas and I had a thing in college, I was experimenting…"

"You never even tell me you love me."

"Anna…"

"My family knows. Everyone knows." She stood, haphazardly shoving papers back in her bag. "Is there even going to be a wedding, Dean?"

"Yes, Anna! He's just…he's nothing to me, I swear. If I was trying to hide it, would I be taking you to dinner with him Friday night?"

She stopped mid-shove and stared right at him. "There's really nothing going on with you and him?"

"No, god, Anna! I swear."

Putting the rest of her papers into her bag, Anna zipped it shut, and turned away. "I want to believe you…"

"Then believe me," Dean replied, standing and crossing the room. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. "I'm marrying you, Anna. Not him. And just because I don't say I love you doesn't mean I don't. I don't know why I don't say it, but I do…I do love you."

Anna's body relaxed against him. He held her a moment more, trying very hard to squelch the anger brewing inside of him. She had no right to question him. He'd always been true and had never given her any reason to doubt him.

"Ok. Ok then. I'm going to go out. I told Hester I'd meet her at the mall so we can shop for Mom and Dad. You'll get the tree up while I'm gone?" She pulled out of his arms, taking her bag and leaving the kitchen. Dean followed her into the hallway, where she set her bag by the door and pulled her coat and purse out of the hall closet.

"Yeah, I'll get it done."

Dean followed her outside, moved the Impala so she could pull out, then made his way back into the warm little kitchen, passing the tree stand with a sigh. Grabbing another beer, he accidently knocked his laptop bag off the kitchen chair, grateful that the computer wasn't in it.

When he reached down to pick it up, a book slid out.

_Painted Angels_ landed face up on the floor, the cover art of a highly stylized Michael staring up at him. It was Reni's Michael. The archangel was depicted as a feminine form, blonde and in armor, crushing the snake beneath his feet. It didn't look anything like the one he'd painted.

He picked the book up from the floor, staring at it, his eyes tracing Cas's name, before sliding it back into the bag with a huff. Dean took a deep swig of beer, and headed for the tree, leftover meatloaf long forgotten.

* * *

_October 2000_

Castiel woke to the smell of something warm and buttery. Never mind it was 3:25 in the morning, according to his cell phone. He pulled himself out of bed, wincing slightly at the chill of the firehouse's tile floor. Pulling on a pair of socks and old sweats, he wandered out of the room and into the main living area.

Dean was facing away from him, baggy sweats and a ragged black tee hanging off his frame, pulling a cookie sheet from the oven. He turned to see Cas, an apologetic grin on his face.

"I'm sorry if I woke you. I couldn't sleep." Dean busied himself moving cookies from the sheet to a cooling rack with a spatula.

"It's ok. They smell really great. Chocolate chip?"

"Yup," Dean smiled, "one of my faves."

Castiel got a couple of glasses out and the milk jug from the fridge. "Can't have cookies without milk," he declared, pouring them both a glass. Dean smiled and nodded, shutting off the oven. He piled a bunch of cookies on a plate, and grabbed his cup of milk.

"Let's go sit on the couch."

"Ok."

They settled in, the cookies between them and the glasses on the low table in front of them. Cas stuffed one in his mouth, moaning around the warm, buttery, chocolaty goodness. He ate another one just as quickly.

Dean stared at him with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile on his face. "Dude. It's just a cookie."

"No, Dean, you have no idea. My parents were completely against junk food of any kind. And these are like the best I've ever had. Delicious."

"Just cookies, jeez," Dean said quietly, although his pleasure at Castiel's praise was written all over his handsome face. "I just like to bake."

"You're good at it. Really good at it," Cas said happily, grabbing another cookie. He ate this one a little slower, savoring the chocolate melting on his tongue.

"So, I should probably bake for you more often, huh?"

"Mmm, just not at ass o'clock in the morning. Why are you up, anyway?"

"Dunno. Couldn't sleep. Lucifer's done, and I'm getting ready to start Raphael…and my Dad called. He was drunk and rambling and it was 1am by that point…so I just gave up."

"Well the cookies are wonderful, but I'm very sorry you can't sleep."

The other man ran a hand down his face. "I'm used to it. I get like this a lot. It's the brain rush of mentally preparing to do Raphael, plus my Dad's crap. I have a weird sleep schedule to begin with."

"What are your plans for Raphael?"

"You really want to know? Or are you just being nice?"

Cas shook his head, "no, I really do want to know. Coming from a super-religious family, I find your interpretations of the angels to be incredibly interesting."

Dean looked surprised. "Really?"

"Really. I'm curious about them. Like, why is Lucifer's face covered in sores and his halo made of glass?"

Green eyes sparkled. "You really want to hear all my weird ass theories?"

"Yes."

"Ok…well, I have this idea, that like, angels can't just walk around Earth in their true forms, because they're basically just light and energy. So to be seen on Earth, they have to choose a vessel. But it can't just be any human; it needs to be a special human. Someone with the right bloodline…" Dean blushed slightly, and stared down at his hands.

"Vessel? So basically, an angel would need to possess a human?"

"Exactly. But they need permission from the vessel. And Lucifer, maybe he can't get to the right vessel, so he takes a human that kinda works. But the vessel's falling apart. 'Cause it's not his true vessel. And the glass represents ice, because he's an angel, not a demon, and I think he'd run cold instead of hot. That's why Hell is hot. It's to torment him even more." Dean took a sip of his milk. "I sound like an idiot."

"No, it's fascinating. I want to hear more. What kind of vessel will Raphael choose?"

"I dunno. I was all ready to make them all male vessels, but then right before my Dad called, and I was dozing, I dreamt of this powerful, tall black woman. Super elegant and a little scary. I dreamt she had me on my knees and her eyes were glowing blue and she was definitely about to smite me…" he trailed off again, and stared at Cas. "Dude, you're about three seconds from calling the loony bin on me, aren't you?"

"No, why would you think that? I'm intrigued! I'm the one that wants to be the writer, but you, Dean, you have a vivid imagination. I'm blown away, to be honest."

Dean's whole face lit up. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." Cas set the plate of cookies on the table and scooted a little closer to Dean. "Tell me about Gabriel?"

"Ok," Dean said quietly. "Gabriel's a short, happy guy. He loves candy, and he's hiding on Earth. He got tired of Heaven and reinvented himself as Loki."

"The Trickster?"

"Yeah. So he goes around messing with people he thinks deserves it, giving them their "just desserts". He's kind of a jerk, but at the same time, he's kind of awesome. I can't see his face yet, though."

"Fascinating. And Michael?"

"I dunno." Dean bit his lower lip. "Michael keeps appearing to me as a younger version of my Dad. I don't…I don't like that at all."

"Huh."

Castiel studied Dean for a moment, and the other man looked up, his eyes meeting Cas's. They just kind of stared at each other. It was weird.

"You know Vic's moving out?" Dean said abruptly, effectively killing the moment.

"No, I didn't know. When did that happen?"

"Told me today. He's moving in with his girl." Dean stood, sweeping cookie crumbs off his lap, and he crossed the floor to stand near the big window. His shoulders slumped, as he stared out at Remington Avenue. "Guess you'll be going too?"

Castiel startled a bit. "Uh, did you…do you want me too?" he asked confusedly.

"No. No, I don't want you to go. But I'm not easy to live with, and no one's stayed as long as Victor has, and I just…I dunno. I just thought if he left, you would too."

For the first time, Cas is seeing Dean's insecurities, all the little hurts and scars. Vic had sort of told him how rough Dean's life had been, and there were things Dean himself had told him, but even with that, Dean always seemed to be so sure of himself, and completely in control of his life.

But now, at four o'clock in the morning, Dean's heart is on his sleeve and he doesn't even realize it. His defenses are gone, his walls lying in rubble at his feet.

"Dean. I don't want to leave. I like it here. I like the neighborhood and the firehouse, and I like you. So unless you want me to go, I'm staying."

"Yeah? Even though I'm annoying and bake in the middle of the night and sometimes sit up and play the piano?"

Cas could hear the relieved smile in Dean's voice, even though he didn't turn around. "To be fair, I've never heard you play piano, so the jury's still out on that."

Dean turned back around, a shy smile on his face. "Well, I can remedy that one, at least." He sat on the black piano bench and stretched his hands. "What do you want to hear?"

"Whatever you want to play."

He thought a minute, his brow wrinkled into the cutest expression. "Huh. I know! I'll play the absolutely most clichéd song a person can play on the piano."

Fingers danced across keys, playing a series of little sounds, none of which sounded like a real song, then he smiled at Cas and started playing in earnest. He recognized the song immediately, Billy Joel's _Piano Man_, and Dean grinned at the expression on Cas's face.

"Told you it was cliché," he smirked.

Then he started to sing.

"_It's four am on a Wednesday, and Castiel shuffles in. There's a plate of cookies sitting next to me, and the day has begun to begin."_ Dean dissolved into giggles, absolutely dying over his own parody of the song.

Castiel laughed with him, highly amused. "That's hysterical. You're a clown."

Dean finally calmed down. "Ok, ok, I'll play you something real now." He flexed his fingers again, and started playing. This time, Castiel didn't recognize the music at first. And when Dean started to sing, he was surprised.

With Piano Man, he'd been fooling around, but this time…

His voice was low, slightly gravelly, and warm like whiskey. _"There are places I remember. All my life, though some have changed. Some forever not for better, some have gone and some remain._

"_All these places have their moments, with lovers and friends I still can recall. Some are dead and some are living. In my life I've loved them all."_ His fingers danced on the keys, his face peaceful and lost in the song.

Castiel was fascinated, and not for the first time, he found himself mesmerized by Dean, by the way he moved, his voice, and every little thing about him.

Dean turned his head, and smiled at Cas, nodding his head to indicate that he should come sit beside him on the bench. In a daze, Cas stood and walked towards the piano.

"_But of all these friends and lovers, there is no one compares with you. And these memories lose their meaning, when I think of love as something new."_ Dean nodded his encouragement, and Castiel sat beside him.

"_Though I know I'll never lose affection, for people and things that went before, I know I'll often stop and think about them. In my life I love you more." _

Reaching around him, Dean picked up Cas's right hand and laid it on the keyboard, positioning his fingers where he wanted them. Using Cas's hand to play the notes, Dean finished the song.

"_Though I know I'll never lose affection, for people and things that went before. I know I'll often stop and think about them, in my life I love you more."_

Castiel could barely breathe, looking into Dean's eyes.

"_In my life I love you more."_

The last note died in the air, and Dean stared at him like he was seeing Castiel for the first time.

Cas held his breath.

Dean moved closer, his eyes sliding closed, his arm still around Castiel's waist.

"Jesus Christ, Winchester, it's four am for fucks sake, and I really love your cookies, but goddamn it man, I need my beauty sleep!"

The other man jumped, pulled himself away from Cas, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wide.

"I mean, cookies are great, and if you had stopped with the cookies, I woulda been fine, but no one needs the Beatles at four am, ok?" Victor stood in the middle of the common area, scratching his belly through his Baltimore PD shirt. "Hey, Cas."

"Yeah, couldn't sleep, and then Cas wanted to hear me play. Sorry, Vic."

"It's ok."

Dean hopped off the bench, and moved into the kitchen to clean up, Castiel watching him go, frustration burning low in his gut.

He'd been sure Dean Winchester was about to kiss him.

And for a moment, Castiel wanted to kill Victor Henrikson.


	5. That Weird Little Spark

_I've re-edited, and added quite a bit more material. There will be no more writing until two and publishing a half assed chapter crap._

_Huge thanks to the lovely Tessa the Reaper for her input and lovely reviews._

_Enjoy Chapter 5 part deux!_

* * *

The Roadhouse smelled exactly the same; coffee, bacon, slight beer and grease odor. Castiel pushed open the door, the little bells tingling, pulling off his gloves and blinking as he left the brightness of Remington Avenue behind.

The TV in the corner was muted, WJZ's afternoon newscast playing as Johnny Cash sang about the man in black. A familiar figure in a trucker cap stood behind the bar, flipping sandwiches on the old grill. The cracked picture of former (and deceased) Governor William Donald Schaefer still hung over the cash register. All the sports memorabilia, the BPD and BFD shields, the beer signs- it was all still the same.

Nothing had changed.

A powerful wave of nostalgia swept over him, as he stood in the restaurant on a Tuesday afternoon.

He could see everything in his mind's eye- Benny at his regular table, black sailor cap perched jauntily on his head, grinning over a cup of java; Jo in jeans and a tight plaid shirt, taking orders from the table of cops that always sat near the windows; Pamela and Tessa in a booth, complaining loudly about Crowley, their smarmy landlord; Rufus, always in something Ravens purple or Orioles orange, bitching and moaning about his two favorite teams; Ash and Andy, permanently half-baked, looking for coffee, pancakes, and scrapple; and Ellen herself, beautiful and loving, more of a mother to Dean than a friend.

"Well, well, well, look what the cat drug in", a warm female voice said. "Never thought I'd see you back in here, boy." Ellen Harvelle-Singer stood in front of him in all her glory, grey-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. "Look at you. All grown up. It's good to see you sweetheart." Her smile was genuine, and just for him.

"Ellen. You look wonderful. Haven't aged a day."

"And you're still as charming a liar as you were back then." She reached out for him, pulling him into a hug, and he melted against her. She hugged him for a long time, then pushed back, still holding him. "Let me look at you. Still so handsome, with those pretty blue eyes," she murmured with a smile. "So you here for lunch, or just popping in?"

"I'm starving. And it smells great in here."

"Well come sit at the bar then, the old man…"

"HEY!" Bobby yelled indignantly.

"…will fix something up for you. And you are an old man, old man."

Bobby hmmph'ed, then smiled as Castiel. "Good to see you again, kid. How ya been?"

"Good," Cas smiled, sliding onto a bar stool. "How's everyone else been? I saw Tessa's store is empty…"

A dark look crossed Ellen's face. "Tessa got breast cancer about three years ago. She…she went down fast."

"Oh. Oh, that's- that's horrible."

"Mmm," Ellen said with a quiet nod. "And Pamela, well, she didn't take it well. She sold the shop to one of her artists and disappeared. We don't know where she went. Her and Tessa…they'd become more than friends since you left us."

"Wow. I had no idea. I'm so sorry, Ellen." Castiel stared down at his hands. "I should have stayed in touch."

"Shoulda done more than that, boy, but that's another story." She slid a menu onto the bar. "Figure out what you want to eat, sweetie."

"A BLT and fries would be good." Castiel handed back the menu. Ellen nodded, and Bobby tossed a few pieces of bacon on the grill. "What about Jo?"

Ellen smiled. "Jo is a nurse at Hopkins. She's seeing a lovely young man, they're getting very serious."

"So she got over Dean, then?" Cas asked with a wry grin.

"Yes. And thank god." Ellen poured a glass of sweet tea and set it down for him. "Benny's still next door, with the bar, and Andy and Ash are still across the street."

"Does Rufus still come in?"

"Oh yeah, only he's got arthritis in his hip, so he's even more bitchy now." She laughed. "Not that you'd notice. He was always bitchy."

"That's the damn truth," Bobby muttered, "damn idjit."

Castiel played with his straw wrapper. "Firehouse looks the same," he said quietly.

"Dean still owns it. Don't know why he doesn't sell the damn place."

Bobby slid the finished sandwich and fries onto the bar. "Probably 'cause he's a stubborn ass."

"Robert…"

"Well he is. Shoulda sold the place years ago. He's gettin' married and they got a place. He don't paint no more. Why hang onto it?"

"None of our business," Ellen said firmly. She poured herself a glass of tea. "Why don't you take a break while we're slow, hun?"

"Woman, if you wanted to get rid of me, shoulda just said so." He leaned over and kissed her cheek, then disappeared up the back stairwell.

Cas took a deep breath. "I'm about to get it, aren't I?"

"Hmmph. Ought too. Mess you left that boy in. Three week bender, and then he just..." Ellen sighed. She picked up a rag and swiped at an invisible spot on her spotless bar.

"He chose his father over me. What was left for me after that? What other choice did I have?"

"I ain't sayin' you were right. But I'm not sayin' you were wrong, either."

"Where's John now?"

"Dean didn't tell you?"

Cas took a sip of his tea. "No. I've only seen him briefly."

"Huh. Well that ain't my story to tell, kid. You'll have to ask him about that."

"Ellen, I get it, I shouldn't have left, but…" Cas sighed, "he made me feel like there was never going to be any chance for us. I didn't know what to do. So I ran. I ran and I didn't look back."

"And now you're back?"

"And now I'm back."

"He's engaged. They're getting married on the 28th. You come here to break them up?"

"No. I had no intention of seeing him. I wanted to, but I thought it would be better…" Cas idly chewed a fry. "Then he showed up at my book signing. I thought maybe…"

Ellen reached across the bar and patted his hand. "I think you missed your chance, sweetie. He moved on. If you had come back sooner? Who knows."

"Did he try- did he ever try to find me?"

"No. This is Dean we're talking about. He buried himself in alcohol. Three weeks after you left, Benny found him in the bathroom of the firehouse, drunk, half out of his mind and filthy, and- well he cleaned himself up after that. Then he moved out of Remington and hasn't been back since. He calls once in a while, and sometimes I run into him up in the County. But he left everything behind."

"Because I left him behind," Castiel said sadly.

Ellen sighed, reached for his glass and refilled it. "I don't know. His dad, well John's a piece of work. And the responsibilities he heaped on Dean when he was just a little kid, coupled with the horrible things he used to say to that boy, about his art, about him personally…I don't know. What you did probably didn't help, but you didn't create the mess that Dean is. No, sweetie, I don't think you need to take all that blame on yourself."

Cas nodded, and ate a few more fries.

"So you're back. Are you staying? In Baltimore, I mean."

"I'd like too. I'm looking for some place to live."

"And Dean?"

He looked up, noticing for the first time the shrewd look in her eyes.

"Why?"

"What does your being back mean for him? Are you still in love with him?"

His stomach sank and he pushed the plate away. "Four days ago? I would have said no."

"And now?"

Cas took a deep breath, thinking back to Saturday, and the way his heart had pounded when he looked up and saw those all too familiar green eyes staring back at him. "Yes," he said softly, "god help me, I'm still in love with him."

"Then you've got a problem, kiddo. What are you going to do about it?"

"Well, I guess I'll deal with it. I'm not a home wrecker," he said with a bitter laugh.

"Hmm."

"He is happy, isn't he?"

"I don't know. I guess so. Truth be told, I see and talk to Sam more than I do Dean."

"I asked him why he stopped painting and he said because I left. I hope he's happy. That's all I ever really wanted for him."

"Well, that's good. 'Cause that's probably all you're gonna get."

The door opened, the bells tingling cheerfully. Ellen gently touched his hand, then grabbed some menus, walking out from around the counter to take care of the newly arrived customers.

Castiel stared down at his discarded plate, wishing, not for the first time, that he'd done things different.

* * *

_October 2000_

Halloween and the firehouse was stuffed full of people.

Dean stared at the crowd packed into his apartment and groaned inwardly. This was so not his scene. None of it. He worked his way across the floor, trying to weave his way through the mess of humans and towards the back stairwell that led up to the roof.

He crashed into something solid, and found Benny grinning at him, fake vampire teeth and all. "Hey, brotha!"

Benny had a case of beer under one arm, and a full, billowy black cape tied around his neck. In addition to the fangs, he was sporting a red and black pirate hat.

"Wha' the hell you 'sposed to be?" Dean slurred. Crap. He hadn't realized he was already that drunk.

"Oh, Christ. I see you don' need any of this," Benny groused, setting the beer down out of Dean's reach. "How ya doin', kid?"

"I'm fine." Dean swept his eyes over Benny's outfit again. "So, dude, wha' the fuck you wearin'?"

"I'm a vampire, dumbass. Then someone decided to slap a pirate hat on my head. So guess I'm a vampire pirate now."

"Vampire pirate," Dean giggled, "Vampirate!"

Benny rolled his eyes. "That's terrible, Dean. Jesus, how drunk are you, anyway?"

"Muchly. I am muchly drunk."

"Why?" Benny asked, concerned.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time…"

"You headin' upstairs?"

"Yeah, Ben, this is…jus' too crowded in here. I jus'…don' wanna be here."

Benny patted him on the back. "Then go. Ever'one's either drunk or high up in here. You won't be missed."

"'K." Dean stepped into the stairwell. "Thanks, Ben."

"Yeah, go on. Get outta here."

Making his way up the stairs and onto the roof, Dean shivered a bit in the chill air, and pulled his coat tighter around him. He pulled a few crates closer to the little metal fire pit, and gathered wood, stacking it inside and lighting it. The fire caught quickly, and he held his hands up to warm them.

Halloween.

It was unbelievable just how much he hated it, although it probably had more to do with the fact that Halloween meant November 2nd was just around the corner. And he hated that date more than anything.

He sighed and stared up at the stars, forcibly changing his train of thought, focusing on the Raphael canvas instead, still blank and waiting for him downstairs. Imagining it in his mind, he added a splash of bright blue to the background, gradually working in the woman's suit and her fierce, angry eyes. He thought about the ice blue he would add to her eyes to make her look like she was about to smite someone.

Thinking about ice blue eyes made him think about deep blue eyes, which made him think about sexy tousled dark brown hair and soft pink lips, and just like that, he was thinking about Castiel again.

It had been happening more and more, especially since the other night, when Cas had stayed up with him, and sat warm against his thigh on the piano bench, those damn blue eyes twinkling in the light from the reflected streetlights.

Dean was going to kiss him. He'd just about been there when Vic came out of his room bitching about the piano.

This was uncharted territory for Dean Winchester. He'd always considered himself fairly aware of the attractiveness of both sexes, but had just chalked it up to his artistic nature. He'd been attracted to a lot of girls over the years, and he'd openly admired a few men, but…

But now- well, now he found himself incredibly attracted to another man. And he found himself thinking about that man all the damn time.

And he had no idea what he was going to do about it.

* * *

Adjusting the ridiculous pair of fluffy white wings he'd picked up, Castiel took a good long look around the common area of his apartment.

Vic's crowd and Dean's artsy friends were merged into the oddest amalgamation of future law enforcement members and artists that Castiel had ever seen.

There were a couple of very attractive, nurse-costumed coeds sitting on one end of the couch discussing Dostoevsky with a tall black man wearing a cowboy hat with paint spattered dreads down to the middle of his back.

Benny was in the kitchen, gleefully tossing grapes at Jo, who was dressed as a pirate. Benny also appeared to be a pirate but with vampire fangs.

He caught sight of Castiel and waved. Jo glared.

Victor was holding court on the piano bench, dressed as a natty gangster, and a gorgeous woman in a red flapper dress was perched on his lap.

"Cas! Nice wings, bro! C'mere and meet my woman!"

Castiel smiled and wandered through the rowdy crowd. "Hello," he said, extending his hand.

She took it, her hand pale and smooth with perfectly manicured red nails. With a flip of honey-brown hair, she smiled up at him. "Bela Talbot," she announced with a crisp British accent. "Pleased to meet you, Castiel- and your wings are lovely."

"Thank you. I'm pleased to meet you as well. I like your accent."

Bela smiled, clearly pleased. "Thank you, darling."

Victor leaned forward and kissed her neck. "She's mine, Cas, get your own."

"Very funny." He looked around the noisy room again. "Have you seen Dean?"

"Huh." Vic looked around. "I dunno man. He doesn't like Halloween. Might be hidin' up on the roof."

"If he doesn't like Halloween, why the hell did he have a party?"

"Hell if I know man."

Cas sighed. "Ok. Nice to meet you, Bela. I'm going to go look for him."

Bela nodded, her attention already back on Vic, and Cas turned away. He waded through the crowd of college students, all in various stages of drunkenness, heading for the stairway at the back of the common area.

Opening the door onto the roof, he gazed up at the full moon and the sky full of stars.

He smelled wood smoke on the chill air and knew he'd found Dean, his suspicion confirmed when he spied his hunched figure crouched in front of their little metal fire pit.

"Hello, Dean," he called, not wanting to startle him.

"Hey, Cas, c'mon over." Dean waved to a couple of crates sitting near the fire. "Best accommodations in the house righ' here."

Castiel frowned at the slur in Dean's voice. He had obviously had quite a bit to drink already. "Are you ok?"

"'m good, man, hell I'm great!" The look on his face made a lie of his words. Dean's eyes were hooded, and he definitely didn't look happy. "I'm jus' peachy, and perfect and ever'thin' is jus'…" He flopped down onto one of the crates. "Fuckin' hate Halloween," he mumbled.

"Then why throw a party?"

"'Cause ever'one wanted me too." Dean pulled a small bottle of Jack Daniels out of the inner pocket of his green coat, twisted off the top and drained the last two inches. He swallowed, and looked at the bottle, disappointed to find it empty. He huffed, and flung it over the back wall of the firehouse. It landed with a crash somewhere in the alley below.

"Ok, Cal Ripken, probably not a good idea to pitch glass bottles off the roof."

For some reason, this struck Dean as hysterical, and he laughed loudly.

"It's not that funny."

This made Dean laugh harder, his face red as he threw his head back, laughter coming in wheezing gasps. "Yes- yes it- it is!" he gasped.

Cas smiled at him, still giggling like an idiot, and pulled up a crate, plopping down next to him. "So why do you hate Halloween?"

Dean snorted. "Demons an' devils an' vampires…jus'…not my thing, dude." He looked Castiel over, finally catching sight of the white fluffy wings. "Now, tha's a good look, Mr. Angel of Thursday."

"Shut up. It's all the costume shop had left."

"No one said ya had'ta dress up. Coulda jus' worn your regular clothes an' come as one'a my angels."

"You're right, I could've. That would have saved me $25."

Dean grinned, then reached out to run his fingers through the wing's feathers. "S'nice. Soft. I like them."

"They are kinda fun," Castiel admitted.

"Cas, I'm really, really, _really_ fuckin' drunk." He grinned again.

"I could tell."

"I'm so drunk."

"I know."

"So now…'cause we're alone an' all, an' I can tell ya now." Dean's brow furrowed. "But don' know if I should." He looked completely confused.

"Tell me what, Dean?" Cas leaned forward slightly, unconsciously drawing closer to Dean.

"I'm so fuckin' confused, Cas."

"About what? You can tell me anything, Dean, you know that."

Green eyes stared back at him, almost black in the flickering firelight.

"What is it?" Cas murmured. "You look…_scared_."

Dean fidgeted with the silver ring on his right hand. He looked up again, met eyes with Cas, and god, there it was. That weird little spark, that odd bit of electricity he'd felt a few nights ago, when he sat next to Dean on the piano bench with the other man's arm around him, watching him move in with his eyes closed, so sure that Dean was about to kiss him.

"Y'know, the other nigh'? Or mornin'? Was mornin', I think…" Dean still looked confused, his eyes bleary.

"You mean the morning you made the cookies and played piano for me?"

"Yeah!" Dean exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "Tha' nigh'. Dude, I was…man, that was a bad nigh'." He was definitely having some difficultly staying focused, and his eyelids looked very heavy. "Dad called. Told me…told me bunch'a shit."

"What did he say to you? I know you were very upset. Did you want to talk about that?"

"No! No, no, not tha', not tha' at all. Not gonna…don' wanna talk about tha' shit, 'cause it's stupid, and my dad's stupid, an'…jus' wanted…to say. Y'know, you stayed up with me. An' tha' was so nice. And you're so nice…" Dean's expression was soft, and he smiled at Castiel. "Really like you, Cas. You're fuckin' awesome."

"You're pretty awesome, too, Dean."

Dean smiled, then seemed to lose the ability to hold himself upright, slumping against Castiel's shoulder. He quickly adjusted his body to a more stable position, wrapping an arm around Dean to keep him from slumping off the crate.

The other man nuzzled into him, and something inside of Cas melted. Dean was so close, so warm and pliable in his arms.

He tried not to read too much into it, the way Dean was almost clinging to him, and he forced himself to watch the fire, and just hold onto Dean. That was what he seemed to need, and Castiel was more than happy to give it to him.

They sat and watched the fire for a long time, and the noise downstairs slowly faded away. By the time the fire died, Dean was asleep in his arms.

Castiel stared up at the stars, trying to sort out his feelings.

He liked Dean. A lot. And he was pretty sure his feelings were more than friendly. But he wasn't sure if that's what Dean wanted, or if Dean was even interested in guys at all. It was a scary line to walk, not knowing what crossing it would mean.

The one thing he knew for sure was that he cared very deeply for Dean.

Dean, who was softly snoring and drooling into his shirt. Castiel nudged him.

"Dean?"

"Mmm?"

"Let's get you to bed."

"'K," Dean murmured. He let Cas pull him to his feet and guide him into the stairwell.

The downstairs was empty, except for Benny, out cold on the couch, with Jo sound asleep on the other end.

He led Dean into his room, pulling back the sheets and blankets. Then he pushed Dean into the bed, smiling as he flopped right into the center. He pulled off Dean's boots, jeans, and outer layers, leaving him in just boxers and a tee, then gently maneuvered him onto one side of the bed, his head resting on the pillows.

Castiel was turning to go, when a hand reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"Stay. Don' wanna be 'lone."

Heart in his throat, Cas turned back and stared at Dean. Both of his eyes were closed, and he was still holding his wrist. "Don' wanna be 'lone," he muttered again, "jus' stay. Jus' stay with me."

"Ok," Cas murmured, stripping off the angel wings, and his outer layers, until all he had left was the same thing Dean was wearing. He shut the door, and turned off the lights, then crawled into the bed.

Dean rolled over, wrapping his arm around Cas's waist and laying his head on his shoulder.

"Thanks, Angel," he whispered, and dropped off into sleep.

The unexpected warmth on his shoulder startled him slightly. He wasn't sure how he felt about this. He was fully aware that he found Dean to be attractive and that he was becoming one of the best friends Castiel had ever had, but as Cas watched him for a moment, his heart doing some pretty crazy things, watching that sweet, peaceful face, the warm feelings bubbled up inside.

It was clear already that this was more than friendship for him, that what he felt for Dean was more, so much more, and on so many levels. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time. He had no way of knowing if Dean felt anything close to the same amount of attraction, but if there was one thing Castiel was sure of, and would bet money on, was that Dean was going to kiss him.

He'd closed his eyes and leaned closer on that bench, and if fucking Victor hadn't interrupted, Dean would have kissed him.

He was sure of it.

Just like he was sure of the fact that he was totally and completely fucked- because he was absolutely falling for Dean Winchester.


	6. Every Way Possible

_Howdy! I hope you liked this chapter, I'm pretty proud of it. Thanks for all your wonderful reviews! You guys are the best!_

* * *

_November 2000_

The day after Halloween dawned bright and crisp, and Castiel felt a little bit sad as he helped Victor load the last of his stuff into his little red S-10 pickup. Dean had a class, so it was just the two of them. When they were done, Victor smiled at Cas as he closed the tailgate.

"Brunch at Ellen's?"

"Yes. That's a good idea."

And that's how they found themselves sharing a booth in the Roadhouse, BLT and fries for Cas, short stack and bacon for Vic.

"And I'm gettin' the check, ok?"

"I won't argue with you there."

"Good."

They munched in silence for a while, the noisy chatter in the busy restaurant pleasant and oddly soothing. Pamela was sitting a few tables over with Tessa, both of them laughing and chatting happily. Benny waved from his usual table, looking incredibly perky for someone who'd passed out on the firehouse's couch blind drunk the night before.

"Bet Dean had a hell of a hangover this morning."

"I don't know. He was up and gone before I was. Early class."

"Hmm." Victor stared at his food for a moment, the expression on his face somber. "You gotta do me a favor, Cas."

"Um, ok?" he replied, a bit taken back by the seriousness.

"I've lived with Dean for almost two years. He's one of my best friends. And if you hadn't moved in, I would have waited a few more days to go," he took a drink, "because the next few days are gonna be hard on him. And he's going to try and bury it and pretend nothing's wrong."

"I'm not sure I understand…"

"Mary Winchester died on November 2, 1983. A nightlight shorted out in Sam's nursery and set the room on fire. She died trying to save her baby. Dean's dad was passed out downstairs and didn't get what was happening at first, and by the time he realized what was going on, Dean had pulled Sam out of the burning nursery and was running down the steps with him. From what I understand, John got burned pretty bad trying to get Mary out."

Cas was silent. He'd known Dean's mom had died in a fire, but this was the first time he was hearing the details. "God, he couldn't have been very old…"

"He was about four and half, maybe a little older? But yeah, he wasn't much more than a baby himself, and he managed to get his six month old brother and himself out of a burning house. And he ain't never said anything, but I'd bet money that he saw her burning."

"Dear god."

"Yeah. After that, John started moving them around, leaving Dean in charge of Sam a lot, and then he started drinking- anyway, it's just a hard day for him. So…keep an eye on him." Victor finished his pancakes and leaned back in the booth. "I can pretty much guarantee his Dad will call sometime tomorrow and say something stupid, since it seems to be an annual event. Just…"

"I'll keep an eye on him. I swear."

"I know you will." Victor's warm brown eyes twinkled. "He likes you, y'know. A lot."

"Umm."

"Look man, I ain't sayin' it's anything, you know, like _that_, but he likes you. And you spent the night with him, even if nothin' happened. But he likes you, y'know?"

Cas stared down into his coffee cup. "For what it's worth, I like him too."

"Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing, I just think you moving in was a good thing. A real good thing. You're good for him. Shit, you're the first roommate other than me that he hasn't managed to run off in under thirty days. Jeez, the last guy? Maybe two weeks if that."

"I've lived with much worse, believe me."

Ellen came by the table and grabbed their empty plates, fondly running a hand through Cas's hair as she walked away.

"Damn, she likes you too. You must be alright, Cas."

"I try," he replied drily.

"You do better than that. You're good people dude. Like I said, I'm glad you moved in."

"And I'm sorry you're moving out. I'll miss you, Victor." Castiel smiled at the man across the table from him.

"I'll miss you guys too, but to be honest? I was getting tired of coming home every night when I'd have just as soon stayed with Bels." He drained the last of his coffee and set the mug back on the table. "'sides, you guys might be glad to have me gone 'fore too long," he added with a wink.

"What?" Castiel gaped at Vic. "What are you talking about?"

"Dude, you think I didn't notice how friendly you two have been getting? Think I missed that moment on the piano bench the other night?"

"Nothing happened!"

"I know that. Just sayin'. He's comfortable with you, and it looks like more than friendship to me."

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but Victor cut him off. "Look, I'm glad! I mean, you do like dudes right?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"…and I'm pretty sure Dean's not particular either way, and just…you guys work. I like it. I like knowing that I'm leaving him with this. That's there's some potential brewing here." He raised an eyebrow at Cas. "Unless I'm totally wrong of course."

"You're not wrong on my end," Cas sighed. "I like him. And I've been trying to figure out _how_ I like him. If it's, you know, more than friendship. I don't know why I'm dancing around this. He wouldn't be my first boyfriend after all. I do know that I care about him. Very much so."

"I can see that, Cas. Just, if something does happen, go easy on him. He breaks easy. And he doesn't even realize it. There's been other people, girls, that he thought, I dunno, thought it would go further. And he takes it hard when it falls through. So just go easy on him. Know what I mean?"

"I think so."

"Good."

Ellen brought the check then, and Victor paid it, leaving a generous tip. He made the rounds, getting hugs from Pam and Tessa, a slap on the back and a one-armed dude hug from Benny. Ellen and Bobby both hugged him, and when he pulled away, he had a white pie box in his hands.

Castiel held the door for him, and walked him back to his truck. "They act like you're moving away forever. The County's not that far."

"Eh, City people always act like the County's far away. Just how it is. 'sides, let's be honest. I really don't know how much I'll be getting down here. With us planning a wedding, and both of us starting our post-college job hunts…hate to say it Cas, but you and Dean probably won't see a lot of me anymore."

"It's like the end of an era," Cas said quietly.

"Yup, the end of Victor Henrikson, King of Remington! Now I'm off to be the Squire of Baltimore County," he said ruefully. Vic opened the passenger door of the truck and slid the pie inside, closed the door, then turned to look back up at the firehouse. "Gonna miss this old place."

"We're going to miss you."

"Cas, it's been real man," Vic said, holding his hand out. Castiel took it and shook it firmly. "Take care of our boy, and take care of yourself."

"You too." They hugged briefly, then Victor got in the truck. He honked and waved as he drove away, and Castiel watched the truck until it disappeared around the corner.

* * *

Dean got home just after six and walked into an incredible smell. The air in the firehouse was suffused with the delicious odors of garlic and olive oil and he didn't know what it was but he liked it. He dropped his portfolio just inside the door, leaning it up against the stairwell, then turned and locked the big doors.

Just before shutting off the lights, he caught sight of the blank Raphael canvas and grimaced at the fact that he hadn't started it yet. He was hoping to at least have it mostly finished before Christmas. And there it stood, totally blank. With a sigh, he headed up the stairs, drawn by the delicious aroma.

Cas stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot.

"What is that smell?"

"Spaghetti. My mom's recipe. From scratch with fresh tomatoes, onion, garlic, carrot and red wine." He turned and winked at Dean, "and my secret blend of herbs and spices."

"Smells amazing!" Dean dropped his backpack and walked into the kitchen. "Want me to make garlic bread?"

"Already done," Cas smiled, holding open the oven door.

"Wow! What did I do to deserve this?"

"Well, Vic moved out today, and you had a late class. I know how you get. You would have likely not eaten and just gone to bed."

"Mmm," Dean agreed, walking across the kitchen floor to stand behind Cas. He didn't know what possessed him, but he leaned forward and rested his chin on Castiel's shoulder. "That really looks good. And I am friggin' starving. I missed lunch and like an idiot, left my wallet here, so I didn't even have vending machine money. So, yeah, starved."

Cas chuckled, his shoulder bouncing Dean's chin. "Then why don't you get a couple of plates and we'll eat this. Toss a strainer in the sink for me, while you're at it."

"Ok." Dean reluctantly lifted his chin from Cas's shoulder and went in search of the dishes.

Ten minutes later, they were curled up on the couch, a basket of sliced garlic bread between them and parmesan loaded plates full of spaghetti in their hands. The TV was on, some new show about doctors in Seattle. The lead doctor was wearing cowboy boots.

"Now, that's just ridiculous. Do you know how sore his feet would be at the end of the day? And does he have to make out with every nurse in the hospital?"

"It's compelling, Cas, I dunno."

"There has to be something better on."

"Just leave it, it's almost over."

"There's still forty minutes left. It's a train wreck." Cas put a forkful of spaghetti in his mouth and continued his tirade, slightly muffled by the food. "Don't know how they're supposed to get any doctoring done with all the kissing."

"Hey, c'mon, I don't give you crap when you watch boring as hell Law and Order all the time."

"Now that show is compelling."

"Whatev…" Dean was cut off by the portable phone's ring. "Your turn," he grinned at Cas, stuffing his face with pasta.

Castiel tossed a dark look in his direction, set his plate on the coffee table, and made his way to the kitchen for the phone. "Hello?"

Dean's attention was drawn back to the television, where Dr. Sexy was telling Dr. Piccolo that she'd better get her act together.

"Dean? It's for you. It's Sam."

"Sammy!" Dean set his plate down and forced a grin onto his face. If it was November 1st, and Sam was calling…that couldn't be anything good. "I'll be back," he said, patting Cas on the shoulder as he took the phone and went in his room, shutting the door behind him.

"What's up, Sam?"

"_I just…I needed someone to talk to."_

Dean frowned. "Dad acting stupid again?"

"_Yeah, well you know. He's doing the preshow for tomorrow."_

"Shit." Dean flopped onto his bed, landing on his back. "He's already wasted?"

"_Yup."_ Sam's voice was tense. _"He's just. I don't even know what to do with him. I made dinner and he threw at me and I'm just…I wish I could come now. I wish I could come live with you and forget this place."_

"Me too, kiddo," Dean's heart clenched, "but you're not eighteen…"

"_Yeah, I know. It doesn't make it any easier."_

"He'd just come up here and take you back by force. May 2nd, Sam. Just gotta make it that long. You get anything back from the colleges you applied for?"

"_No, just a 'you suck' letter from Harvard and Princeton, but I was expecting that. To be honest, I'm holding out for Hopkins or Georgetown. They're close to you…"_

"That shouldn't be a deciding factor. You need to go where you're gonna get the best education." Dean stared up at his ceiling, studying the open beams and metal framework. He could picture Sam, all long limbs and shaggy hair, sprawled in a similar position on his bed back in West Virginia. "Although, Hopkins _is_ a damn fine school. Do they have the program you need for the staring-at-old-books job?"

Sam chuckled on the other end. _"The staring-at-old-books job? That's one way of putting it. I want to work as a researcher, and I need to get a degree in Anthropology, and Hopkins has a fantastic Anthro dept., so yeah…"_

"Oh. Ok. I don't know how all that crap works, I mean, you're the smart one."

"_Don't. Don't write yourself off like that. Do you really think that asstons of creativity and your paintings add up to nothing? I mean, dude, you haven't even graduated yet, and you've been commissioned so many times that you own your own home."_

"I wouldn't call the firehouse a home…"

"_I would. It's more than I have in this fucking wet and broke down trailer."_

A bitter curl of guilt twisted in Dean's stomach. "God, Sammy, I'd give anything to get you out of there sooner. I swear."

"_I know. I didn't mean…how's Cas?"_ he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

"Cas is cool. I came home tonight, and he had spaghetti waiting. Like stood at the stove all day and made from scratch with tomatoes spaghetti. I walked in and the smell just wafted…amazing." He chuckled, then really started talking, about everything he could think about, Cas's smile and sense of humor, how he was a stickler for a neat and clean bathroom, how he tried to organize Dean's paints the other day, his taste in music and his passion for Chris Noth and Jerry Orbach and crime dramas in general, how much Ellen and Bobby liked him, and he just went on and on, Sam silent on the other end.

When he finally ran out of details, Sam laughed, a light and carefree sound.

"What?"

"_You like him."_

Dean blushed, "well, yeah," he stammered, "he's a nice guy, a good friend…"

"_No, dude, you like him, like you know, like him."_

"Uh…"

"_What? It's awesome. My big brother's got a crush."_

"Heh, well, y'know, I just…fuck." Dean ran a hand down his face, then rolled to lie on his stomach, propping his chin on his hand. "Yeah, ok, I like him. Whatever."

"_Well, does he like you?"_

"I dunno- I'm not doing this, Sam. I'm not playing the dating game with my little brother, ok?"

"_Dude. Chill."_ There was a crash on Sam's end of the line. _"Fuck,"_ his little brother mumbled. _"I gotta go."_

"OK. Talk to you later?"

"_Yeah, I'll call tomorrow. Look, Dean, go easy on yourself tomorrow. Just…don't be all hard on yourself, ok?"_

"Yeah, Sam, I'll be fine." Another crash, and Dean heard a muffled curse in his father's growly voice. "You better go, kiddo."

"_Yup. Bye, Dean."_

"Bye, Sam."

A click, and his brother was gone. Dean sighed, shut off the phone and tossed it on his bed. He laid there a moment more, then dragged himself off the bed and wandered back out to the living room, flopping down on the couch. The microwave beeped, and a second later, Cas handed him a steaming plate of spaghetti.

"I warmed it up for you. You were in there quite a while. Everything ok?"

Dean stabbed a fork into the pasta. "Yeah. Just, Sam's having a rough night. Y'know, when he turns eighteen in May, he's moving up here. So we don't need to look for another roommate, 'cause Sam will need that room." End credits rolled on _Dr. Sexy_, and Dean watched the TV, disappointed he'd missed most of the episode.

"Which reminds me, when I graduate in the spring, will I need to move out? I really don't want too."

"Nah, Cas, I ain't goin' anywhere. You can stay as long as you like."

"Wonderful," Castiel smiled at him, damnable blue eyes sparkling, and Dean's heart flip-flopped.

Sam was right. He did _like_ him. A lot.

* * *

_Now_

Goddamn, but he was tired of the fucking snow.

The Impala slipped up Avondale, and complained about pulling into the driveway, rear tires spinning fretfully. Anna wasn't home, and Dean found himself rather relived. It was Wednesday, and they still hadn't talked about the fight they had on Monday. Tuesday night had been conference night at Anna's school, and Dean had been half asleep by the time she got home, helped along by a little too much alcohol.

Inside the warm little house, Dean pulled out the chicken he'd thawed the night before, along with carrots, celery, and an onion. He hit the on button on the little radio in the kitchen, and a short time later, he was humming along to _Fade to Black_ as he was sautéing the vegetables in a deep Dutch oven, the beginnings of chicken and dumplings.

It was cold and miserable and damp outside, and a perfect night for some comfort food. While the chicken browned, he sorted the mail, then added the stock and turned the heat down to low so the stuff could simmer for a while.

Back in the living room, he turned on the Christmas lights, and added the last few ornaments to the tree. The garland was next, and when he was done, Dean stepped back and admired his work, finally feeling a little enthusiasm for the holidays.

A key in the lock caught his attention, and he watched with a sense of trepidation as the door opened.

Anna stepped into the house, shaking the snow from her boots. She saw Dean standing there and offered him an shy smile. "Hi, hun."

"Hey."

"How was your day?"

"Fine."

She looked at him again, as if trying to see through him. "Something smells good," she said finally, shrugging out of her coat and kicking off her boots.

"Chicken and dumplings."

"That sounds wonderful."

"Yeah. It's gross out and I just needed something warm."

She nodded, picking her bag up and walking towards the kitchen in her blue snowflake socks. He followed her back into the kitchen, busying himself with finishing dinner. When it was done, Dean dished up a bowl for her and one for himself, grabbed forks and sat down.

Anna smiled across the table at him. "This looks wonderful. I love your cooking."

"Thanks," he murmured.

They ate in silence, Anna looking like she wanted to say something, but never did. After, she took her bag into the living room to grade papers while Dean cleaned the kitchen. When he was done, he sat at the table to work on the following week's lesson plans.

It was a very quiet night, both of them in separate rooms, Dean feeling unsettled the better part of the evening. They went to bed at the same time, both lying on their backs on their separate sides of the bed.

"The tree looks nice," Anna said unexpectedly. "You did a nice job."

"Thanks," Dean muttered.

Anna sighed.

"And dinner was delicious. You're a great cook."

"Thanks, I'm glad you liked it," he replied woodenly.

She was quiet, and they laid there, neither one saying anything. The tension was thick and icy cold. Dean was miserable and didn't know what to do about it.

"Dean, baby, I'm so sorry." Anna said finally. "I don't know what got into me. I guess I just reacted and then I said the worst possible things I could think of."

He said nothing.

"I know you hate it when I minimize your job, and I feel horrible. I was mad, and I went for the one thing that I knew would upset you. I can't tell you how many times I've ripped my own family members for saying crap like that. Your job is important, art education is important. And I've seen you in action. You're a great teacher." She rolled over, propping herself up so she could look at him, warm brown eyes intense in the low light of the bedroom. "I've been beating myself up since Monday night. I'm so sorry."

Dean could see the sincerity in her eyes, and he felt the coldness in the air thaw a bit. "I shoulda told you. I should have taken you with me Saturday."

"It's ok. We both messed up. I shouldn't have reacted like that." She reached out and cupped his cheek. "I love you so much. It freaked me out, that there might be this other person out there…I reacted badly. I'm sorry. It doesn't matter if you like guys too, it doesn't."

"Anna…"

"No, it doesn't. You're with me now, and we're getting married. It doesn't matter what you did in the past. God, Dean, I'm so fucking sorry."

"I'm sorry, too. I should have told you. You shouldn't have found out like that." He reached up and took her hand, pulling it against his chest, reaching up with his other hand to push a piece of her red hair behind her ear. "I love you," he said softly.

Anna beamed, and leaned in for a kiss. "Love you too," she whispered against his lips. She kissed him again, a bit more forceful this time, each kiss growing in intensity until Dean found himself breathing hard.

She stripped away his sweats and tee shirt, apology in her hands with every movement, kissing away her harsh words, touching him softly, Dean allowing himself to be swept away. Anna climbed on top when they were both naked, settling down on his cock, warm and wet, and deliciously tight around him.

Dean gasped, reaching up to grab her hips, his fingers sinking into her creamy skin. She rode him hard and fast, reaching down behind to run her fingers over his balls, pushing him closer and closer to orgasm with every movement, every thrust of her body against his.

She leaned down to kiss him, her tongue pushing roughly inside his mouth. Anna was close, he could tell, and he was skating the edge. "Dean, Dean," she panted in his ear. Dean wrapped his arms around her waist, flipping them both, pulling Anna's leg up over his shoulder, driving in relentlessly, chasing his own orgasm.

Anna screamed as she came, fingernails drawing tracks down his back, and god he was so fucking close-

He looked down at her, but he didn't see her. For just a second, a frozen moment in time, he was staring down into blue eyes, staring at sexed out dark brown hair, for just a moment, he was staring at _Cas_.

Dean tumbled over the edge with scream and curse, collapsing onto Anna's chest. His arms and legs were shaking, and not just from the orgasm.

Oh god, he was fucked. He was fucked in every way possible.

And he had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do about it.


	7. Old No 7

_Thanks for all your wonderful reviews. Glad to know you are enjoying the story. Remember, you can get updates on all my fics on my tumblr: Winjennster dot tumblr dot com. Just replace the word dot with actual periods._

* * *

Friday morning, Dean woke up with a stomach completely twisted in knots. It was so bad, he had his cell phone in his hand and was dialing the number for the school, intending to call out, before he realized what a total and complete child he was being. With a sigh, he hung up the phone and dragged his sorry ass out of bed and into the shower.

Tonight was the night, the big night, the dinner with Cas night. He was so nervous, hours before it was going to happen, that he had no idea how the hell he was going to make it through the dinner itself.

Anna was in the kitchen making coffee, when Dean finally managed to drag himself downstairs. She looked beautiful, in a bright green sweater and long denim skirt, and she smiled and handed him a mug, which he took gratefully. "You look beat."

"Didn't sleep well."

"I'm sorry, babe. Wish I could stick around and make you breakfast, but I have got to get moving, so I'll see you later. Hopefully, your day will be better than your night was."

"Yeah, here's hoping." Dean followed her into the living room, watching as she gathered all of her things. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"See you tonight. I'm really excited to meet your friend," she added, forcing a smile onto her face. She turned and opened the door.

"Anna…"

"Yeah?" she asked, turning back to him, the sunlight streaming through the open door turning her red hair to a blaze.

"I can cancel."

She seemed to consider this for a moment. "No, it's fine. I want to meet him. I'll see you later," she said, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door, effectively silencing his protests.

Several hours later, he was on his lunch break, classroom empty, and sorting through the finished still-lifes the kids in his Fine Arts class had turned in. Most of them were incredible. The kids in Fine Arts were there because they wanted to be, and pretty much all of them were incredibly talented.

He was closely examining the shadowing effect Kevin Tran had used when a book was dropped loudly on his desk, and Dean jumped.

Charlie giggled.

"Damn it, Charlie, what have I told you about sneaking up on me?"

"It's so easy, Winchester. I can't resist."

Dean took in her shit eating grin and sighed. "What do you want, Bradbury?"

"Who says I want anything?" she asked, feigning hurt.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Ok, fine, you got me. So tonight's the big night, right?"

"Charlie…"

"What? Dinner with Castiel "Dreamy" Novak. It's exciting."

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head. He pushed his chair away from the desk and stood. "I need some lunch."

"Ooh, me too, I'll come with you!" she chirped.

"Swell."

"C'mon, it's Friday, pizza day, one of the few days I buy lunch in this crap hole." She pulled out her phone and started tapping away on it, letting out a low _dammit_.

"What?" he asked, waving at the Pete Evans, one of the gym teachers.

"Friggin' Sam! There is no beating him on Words with Friends! I should have never agreed to play with him."

Dean laughed, holding the cafeteria door open for her while she fired off an angry text to his brother.

"I give up! I need a new game."

"C'mon, your highness, let's get some pizza."

They walked through the cafeteria, many students yelling out his name and waving. Charlie got just as much attention and a gawky kid named Garth pulled her aside to show her something on his iPad. By the time she caught up with him, Dean had already purchased his lunch and hers, handing her a tray.

Back in his classroom, he tuned his little radio to 100.7 and both of them settled in to enjoy their lunches. Def Leppard's _Rock of Ages_ drifted through the room.

"Don't you get tired of cock rock?" Charlie asked around a mouthful of pizza.

"Don't you get tired of talking with your mouth full?" Dean shot back. She stuck her tongue out. "Oh yeah, Bradbury, that's mature."

They chewed in silence for a while, the music changing to Pink Floyd's _The Wall_. Dean cleaned up his lunch, quietly singing under his breath. Standing, he took the pile of paintings and organized them into a neat stack. He then moved the stack of still-lifes to his portfolio, packing them carefully to take home and grade.

"There's something very ironic about a teacher singing _'we don't need no education'_."

"Shuddup," he grinned.

"So are you excited?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah, I guess."

He said nothing else, and she studied him closely. "You're nervous, dude, look at you."

"I am not nervous," Dean scoffed.

"Oh you totally are. Like totally. You're scared you're gonna crawl over the table and mack on Mr. Angel of Thursday right in front of Anna." Charlie's eyes were sparkling with mischief.

"You are a pain in my ass, you know that?"

"Well, I'm just saying. If that book has any amount of truth in it," Dean groaned loudly, but she kept going, "then you guys had some pretty hot times back in the day, right?"

He sank back into his chair, and buried his head in his arms. "Dear god, please stop."

"And I mean, some of the stuff he wrote about, I mean, dude, you were gone on him. Gone."

"Charlie…"

"And I know I wouldn't take Dorothy to dinner with Gilda, y'know what I mean? It's creepy. And probably inappropriate."

"Is this supposed to be advice?" He asked, sitting up and staring at her. "'Cause it kinda sucks."

"Look, I'm just trying to be realistic." She launched herself out of the chair and started pacing the classroom. "First, Cas was apparently your first really, really serious relationship. It says so in the book."

"Fiction, Charlie," he reminded her, but she kept going.

"Second, he was there through some pretty crazy times in your life, if I'm matching the events up right. But then, I'm not sure about all of it, because David and Carver end up pretty happy, and clearly, you guys didn't, and…"

"Charlie, please," Dean said quietly. "Please stop."

She froze, stopped pacing, and turned to look at him, a chastened expression on her face. "Oh," she murmured. "I'm sorry. I'm pretty good at running my mouth, aren't I?"

"It's ok. I just…"

"You loved him, didn't you?"

Dean stared down at his desk. "Yes," he whispered.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I shouldn't have…I got carried away."

He nodded woodenly.

"I should go," she said quietly. "Dean…just, I didn't mean to…"

"I know."

Charlie sighed, gathered their trays and left the room.

God, what he wouldn't give to have it be Saturday already.

* * *

_November 2000_

Cas pedaled his bike up Remington, already soaked through from the rain that was pouring down from the angry grey sky. He couldn't get to the firehouse fast enough, and when he did get there, Cas was dismayed to find the door locked.

Muttering a curse, he dropped his backpack onto the ground, digging through it and quickly finding the key. He unlocked the door, shoving it open and tossing his backpack through, then grabbing his Schwinn and forcing it through as well.

The interior of the firehouse was as dark as the outside. It was after eight, but that was hardly late by firehouse standards. He'd thought he'd find Dean working on the Raphael canvas. The other man had complained about it the day before, lamenting that he hadn't started it yet.

Remembering what Vic had said about Dean and November 2nd, Castiel scooped up his backpack and headed up the stairs. If Dean wasn't home yet, he'd go ahead and get some kind of dinner going. Dean had really seemed to enjoy the homemade spaghetti he'd made yesterday, and he knew he had the ingredients for several other dishes hanging out in the fridge. Cas had also purchased the supplies to make his mom's cherry pie, and was looking forward to surprising Dean with it, especially knowing how Dean felt about pie.

Upstairs was dark and quiet, and Castiel confirmed that Dean didn't appear to be home. He dropped his backpack in his bedroom, and stripped out of his coat, hoodie, and wet jeans, pulling on a ratty old pair of black sweats and a dry UMBC hoodie.

Back out in the kitchen, he pulled out a Dutch oven and set it on the burner, turning the stove on to preheat. Cas pulled chicken, celery, carrots, and onion out next, and set to work chopping all of the ingredients. It was wet, cold, and disgusting outside. A day like that called for comfort food. He hoped Dean would enjoy his chicken and dumplings.

Just before he put the chicken into the pot, he heard an odd noise from the bathroom. Castiel frowned, and shut off the burner. In the bathroom, he flicked on the light.

The bathroom appeared to be empty, his and Dean's stall doors hanging open, and the shower curtain was pulled back. Shutting the light off, he walked back into the common area.

A weird feeling settled in his stomach. Dean should have been home already. He didn't have class after three, and he wasn't scheduled to work that night. Castiel picked up the portable phone and called Dean's cell. It rang five times and went to voice mail. Frowning, he disconnected, then dialed the number to the Roadhouse from memory.

"Roadhouse," Jo's bored voice answered.

"Hello, Jo. It's Castiel. I was wondering if you'd seen Dean."

"Nope," she said brusquely. "Try Benny's."

"Ok, thank you."

"Yup."

He disconnected the phone, and dialed Benny's number.

"Benny's Place," came the warm honeyed drawl.

"Benny, it's Castiel. Have you seen Dean?"

"Sure haven't. You check the Roadhouse?"

"Yes, they haven't seen him either."

"Huh. I dunno, brotha. If I see him, I'll tell him you're lookin' for him."

"Ok, thank you."

"No problem, darlin'."

Setting the phone down on the counter, Castiel realized he was actually quite worried about his friend. He didn't know what to do about it, and decided to just go ahead and finish dinner. Half an hour later, the pot was bubbling, and the good smell filled the kitchen.

It was now after nine, however, and still no Dean. Castiel frowned as he looked at the clock. He tried Dean's cell again, but there was still no answer. He checked Dean's room, and Victor's old one, even his own. Still no Dean.

He was really starting to worry.

Dinner was done, and he turned the heat down to low, covering the pot. Castiel made his way into the bathroom again, answering the call of nature. He was on his way back out when he heard an odd snuffling noise.

Cas turned slowly, staring back into the bathroom. There was no one there; the first three stalls were empty, the doors hanging open. He stepped further into the bathroom, back where the old lockers were.

Castiel found Dean.

His friend was flat on his back in a puddle of vomit, his cell phone next to him, a pill bottle and a fifth of Jack Daniels lying empty on the floor.

"Oh my god," Cas whispered, dashing across the floor. He hit his knees near Dean's head, gently scooping his head into his lap. "Dean. Dean, wake up. Dean!" Dean's head lolled in his lap. "Dean, please. God, please wake up. Please." Cas shook him gently, but Dean didn't flinch, didn't respond.

Castiel put his fingers on Dean's neck, searching for a pulse, and was relieved when he found one. He had Dean's cell in his hand and was about to dial 911 when Dean's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

"Don't," he rasped. "I threw it all up. Don't call, please, Cas." His voice was weak and raspy, but his eyes were open, bloodshot green staring up at him. "They'll call my dad and lock me up, god…please don't call, Cas."

Cas hesitated, the phone still in his hands. Dean's eyes were wrecked, pleading. Sighing, he set the phone down on a clean section of the floor. "Against my better judgment…ok. But we're going to get you cleaned up. And then you're going to tell me why you drank so much alcohol with," Castiel picked up the pill bottle, "sleeping pills? God, Dean, what the hell were you thinking?"

"I dunno…" he murmured.

Cas shook his head. "C'mon, let's get you up." He stood, reaching down for Dean. He helped him to his feet, and the other man wobbled, but managed to stay up. "Strip. I'll get the water going, and clean up while you shower. Leave your clothes on the floor."

He left Dean in the locker room, and went to the shower, turning on the hot water and letting the steam fill the room. Cas leaned up against the wall, and wiped a hand down his face. His hands were shaking. Finding Dean like that- it was one of the scariest things that had ever happened to him.

Dean came around the corner in his boxers, a sheepish expression on his face.

"Get in," Cas barked.

He nodded and stepped into the shower, drawing the curtain across and tossing his boxers out into the room. Castiel grabbed them and went back to the locker room, starting the washer at the far end. He dumped a liberal amount of soap into the drum. Gathering Dean's clothes, he pulled his wallet out of the soiled jeans and dumped the whole load into the machine. He used several towels to clean up the vomit, and dropped them in as well.

Slamming the lid shut, he leaned up against the washer, swallowing a sob. He let the tears run freely, but he wasn't going to let Dean hear him crying.

As if on cue, the water stopped, and a rough voice called his name. Castiel grabbed another fresh towel, and walked back to the shower. "Here," he said, shoving it through the curtain.

"Thanks," Dean murmured. He pulled back the curtain a moment later, skin flushed from the heat of the shower and a shamed expression on his face. Cas tried not to look too close at the miles of wet, tattooed skin on display.

"Go get dressed. I made dinner."

"Ok," Dean said quietly. He stopped just outside the bathroom. "Cas? Look I'm…" he trailed off, staring at the floor.

"Just go get dressed," Cas said gently.

Dean nodded, and left the room.

* * *

It was a very quiet night. Castiel didn't bring up what happened in the bathroom. At all. He simply wrapped Dean in a blanket and stationed him on the couch with a bowl of chicken and dumplings. It was delicious, warm and comforting, but Dean couldn't eat, just pushed the food around the bowl. He finally gave up, and sat it on the coffee table.

Castiel's eyes followed the mostly full bowl, but he didn't say a thing when Dean set it on the table.

He wasn't asking questions, wasn't demanding an explanation, and that was making Dean insane. For the first time in his life, he found himself wanting to explain, wanting to tell Castiel everything. They ate in silence, Castiel pushing him back onto the couch when he tried to help him clean up. "Just sit. I've got it."

So Dean sat. He stared out the window at the rain, flinching when a particularly close boom of thunder rattled the windows.

Dean stared at his cell phone, sitting innocuously on the coffee table. One phone call and he'd almost done the unthinkable. He'd almost ended it. Would have too, if his body hadn't taken over. What was he thinking? What would Sam have done if he'd succeeded? God, was he really that weak?

He didn't even realize he was crying until Cas sat across from him, his ass on the coffee table, and reached out to thumb a few tears off his cheek. The gesture was so intimate, so loving, it took Dean by surprise, and the next thing he knew, he was wrapped in Cas's arms, sobbing, shaking, clinging to Cas with everything he had.

"Dean, what is it, what's wrong? Please talk to me." Cas slid onto the couch, never letting go, and Dean just clung tighter. "What happened, Dean?"

"Who says that? Who says that to their own kid?" Dean sobbed.

"Says what? What happened?" Cas's bright blue eyes were wide and concerned. "Please talk to me, Dean."

Dean shook his head, tossed off the blanket, pushed Cas away and pulled himself to his feet.

"Dean."

"I can't. I can't," he whispered. Walking across the floor, he stood at the window, staring down into Remington Avenue, watching as the torrential downpour swept down the street, moving too fast for the storm drains.

Tears still rolled down his cheeks, and he swiped them away angrily. "Cas, if you had a kid, would you…" Dean trailed off, unwilling to give his scrambled and twisted thoughts breath.

A hand landed on his shoulder. "Talk to me. Maybe it will help."

Dean turned. "I know what would help," he murmured, and he reached out for Cas, grabbed his hoodie with both hands and pulled him closer. He pressed their lips together, licking at the seam of Cas's lips, trying to force the other man to open his mouth.

Cas pushed back, pushed him away. "What are you doing?" he growled.

"Like you don't want this," Dean hissed, attempting to pull Castiel in again.

"Not like this," he stated firmly, pushing Dean back. "Not when you're so upset you don't even know what you're doing!" Castiel moved away from Dean. "I'm trying to help you. This wouldn't help you."

"How the fuck do you know? How do you know what I need? Maybe I just need someone to bend me over a table and fuck me! Maybe I just need to feel fucking wanted for once! Maybe I just need someone to give a fuck about me for two minutes!"

"I do care about you! That's why I'm not letting you do this! I won't take advantage of you like this, Dean!"

Anger flared up inside him, and Dean grabbed the first thing his hands found and flung it against the wall. His 1959 Les Paul Gibson guitar hit the wall hard. The neck separated from the body, and Dean watched in horror as it hit the ground, all the anger leaving him in a whoosh.

He sank to his knees where he stood, the sobs taking him down again, and Cas was there in an instant, strong arms wrapping tight against him. "It's ok, Dean, whatever it is, it's going to be ok."

"Oh god, Cas, that was my mom's! I broke my mom's guitar." Dean wrapped his hands into Cas's hoodie and sobbed. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he howled.

"You're upset. Because it's the anniversary of your mother's death and you're having a bad day. But something happened. Please tell me what happened. Please, Dean."

Dean snuffled, hiding his face in Cas's hoodie. "Who tells their fucking kid they wish they were dead? Who says that, Cas?" Dean was shaking again, the memory of his father's words buzzing in his head.

_I wish it had been you. I wish your mother had lived instead of you. Every time I look at you, I see her. Why wasn't it you, Dean? Why did you get to live and she had to die?_

It didn't matter than the man was drunk. Dean knew John Winchester had meant every word.

"Your father called," Cas said flatly. "And he said that to you? That he wished you were dead?"

Dean nodded.

"That is. That is just. That's incredibly fucked up." He tightened his grip on Dean, holding him as close as he could. "That's why you drank the whiskey with the pills? You wanted to give him what he wanted?"

"Yeah. I don't know what I was thinking."

"You weren't thinking. God, Dean. I should have stayed home with you today. I thought about. Victor warned me yesterday that today would be hard for you. I should have stayed home."

Dean sniffled. "It's ok. Not your fault."

"It's not your fault, either, you know? The fire? It's not your fault that you lived and your mother didn't."

"It feels like my fault."

"No, it's not. You were practically a baby yourself. Do you know what a miracle it is that you got Sam and yourself out? You saved your brother, Dean. That's a miracle."

He didn't say anything else, just kept his tight hold on Dean, rocking him slightly. Dean eventually stopped crying, and Cas got him up off the floor and back onto the couch, wrapping the blanket around him again. Dean let Castiel pull him into his arms.

They sat like that for a long time, Dean slowly calming down. He leaned against Cas, his head on his shoulder, imagining that he could absorb the comfort Cas was offering.

"I'm sorry I'm such a fucked up mess. Bet you wish you'd never moved in."

"Stop beating yourself up. I like you. And I'm glad I moved in." The arm around his back squeezed him a little tighter. "I'm sorry that I wasn't here when he called."

"It's ok."

"I shouldn't have left you alone, Dean. Not after Victor told me how hard today would be."

Dean snuggled closer into Cas's warmth. "I'm sorry I kissed you," he said abruptly.

To his surprise, Cas chuckled. "That part would have been ok under other circumstances."

Dean felt his cheeks pink. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Cas smiled at him in the dark. His hand snaked under the blanket and found Dean's, and he threaded their fingers together. "Maybe sometime we should try that again, ok?"

"Ok," he said quietly.

They sat in the dark and watched the thunderstorm rage, hands wound together and a comfortable silence wrapped around them. A warm stirring of hope settled in Dean's belly, and he let himself relax, let the tiredness wash over him.

The last thing he remembered was the feel of soft lips on his forehead, as he drifted off into peaceful sleep.


	8. You Don't Know Me

_Thanks for the reviews guys. I hope you like this chapter._

* * *

_November 2000_

Dean woke slowly, warm and comfortable, sun streaming through the windows. He rolled to his side, away from the sun, and found Cas laying there, blue eyes twinkling, a smile on his face.

"Good morning," he said quietly, in that gravelly tone of his.

"Morning," Dean smiled back. He stretched, taking in the fact that he was in Cas's room, in Cas's bed. "Didn't I fall asleep on the couch?"

"Yes. But I moved you in here. I thought it would be more comfortable. You're cute when you're asleep." Dean blushed. "Actually, you're cute all the time. Especially when you blush like that."

Dean's face flamed all the more, and he twisted his face into the pillow.

"Hey. Don't hide."

"'mbarrassed," Dean grumbled. "Made an idiot of myself last night."

"It turned out ok, but yeah, can you not do that again, please?"

"I'm sorry, Cas. I shouldn't have let him get to me like that. I shouldn't have even answered the phone."

He turned his head on the pillow, admiring the way the sunlight lit Cas's eyes. Blue depths twinkled back at him, and Dean felt short of breath. He was gorgeous. His friend was gorgeous.

"You're not the only one who has issues with their family, you know? I don't know if I've told you directly, but I'm gay. And my parents are ultra-conservative. I've never brought anyone home because I know it wouldn't be pretty. My dad is definitely more open-minded than my mom, and Michael and Gabriel have been very supportive, but Lucifer…well, he's a piece of work, and Mom refuses to allow us to explain it to Raphael. So, yes, my family, myself, I have problems too. It's all in how you manage it."

Dean grinned. "I knew you were gay though."

"You did?"

"Yeah. That first day, when Vic introduced us? You couldn't stop staring at my chest."

Cas blushed, something Dean had yet to see him do, and it created a warm feeling in his core.

"Well, all those tattoos…and you were shirtless after all, and you're not exactly hard on the eyes." Cas chuckled. "But what about you? Are you gay?"

"I don't think so. I thought I was pretty straight until recently, but now I just…I don't know."

"What makes you think you might not be straight?"

Dean smiled. "You."

Castiel reached across the bed, gently running his fingers down Dean's cheek. They moved slowly closer to each other, Cas propping up on his elbow, hovering over him. "Cas, I don't…I don't know what I'm doing here", he whispered.

"Don't worry. I'm just going to…" his eyes slipped shut, as he moved in closer, and Dean closed his eyes as well. This was it. This was the moment when the friendship would end, and something new would begin, and…

…the doorbell buzzed.

"Seriously?" Cas groaned.

Dean chuckled. "Hold that thought. I'll get rid of whoever it is, then you and me can get back to…whatever this is," he smiled.

Cas dramatically pulled a pillow over his face. "Hurry back," he mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow.

With a smile on his face, Dean left the room. In the living room, he grabbed onto the fire pole and slid to the bottom, still smiling like an idiot as he swaggered over to the door, but, when he opened the door, the smile disappeared.

A tall, gangly mass of limbs stood on the other side, ratty duffel thrown over his shoulder, and a great purple and yellow bruise blooming on his cheek. He stared at Dean through bloodshot eyes, a mass of chestnut colored bangs hanging over his forehead.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered.

His brother's shattered hazel eyes filled with tears. "Please don't make me go back. Please, Dean."

* * *

Sam Winchester was taller than Dean, by several inches, handsome like his brother, but in a different way. Despite his longer hair, his features were sharper, slightly more masculine than Dean's plush, full lips and softly rounded cheeks. He had the beginnings of an impressive set of muscles combined with the incongruous expression of an overgrown puppy.

Dean had brought him upstairs, an apology in his eyes for Cas, which he waved off completely. Sam was family, and he clearly needed Dean, judging by the impressive shiner on his left eye and the way he was clinging to his older brother.

They settled Sam on the couch with a fresh cup of coffee and a blanket over his shoulders. To Cas, he looked exhausted. Dean sat on the couch beside him, with his own coffee cup, and he was watching Sam carefully, his shoulders rigid and tense.

"How did you get here, Sammy?"

"Hitched."

Dean's face paled. "Dad hit you?" he asked softly.

Sam nodded miserably, sipping his coffee. "I told him off for what he said to you. It started as a screaming match and then it got physical. He took a swing at me, and I blocked that one, and then it just got violent. He started hitting me with anything he could find. I tried to fight back, but that old fucker's strong when he wants to be, and next thing I know, I'm laying on the floor staring up at the ceiling."

Dean's face darkened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Then what?"

"Then he kicked me. Twice," Sam chuckled bitterly. "So when I could get up again, I grabbed as much shit as I could, found as much of my school records as I could, shot record, birth certificate, anything I thought I might need, because I can't," his voice broke and his eyes filled with tears, "I can't go back, Dean."

Dean reached out and wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulder, pulling him close. Sam twisted in his grip and buried his face in Dean's neck. "I'm not going to send you back. But Dad might- he might make trouble for us."

"How old are you, Sam?" Cas asked softly, sitting down on Sam's other side.

"Be eighteen May 2nd. Why?" He sniffled loudly.

"My brother, Michael- he's a lawyer. I can call him. Maybe there's something we can do, maybe file for emancipation or something. It might mean testifying against your dad. But we have to do something, or they'll probably try and put you in foster care of some sort. Would you like me to call Michael and see if he can come for dinner? He works here in the city."

Sam looked at Dean, and Dean nodded. "That's a great idea, Cas. I'd really appreciate that."

"Ok. Are you hungry? I could make breakfast, or run to Ellen's and get something for us."

"Yeah, why don't you grab a mess of pancakes and bacon, and I'll get Sammy in the shower while you're gone. Ok?"

Cas nodded, and stood, leaving the room to get dressed. On his way back out, he looked at Sam and Dean, wrapped around each other on the couch, two broken boys clinging to the last solid thing they really had in the world, and he felt an unexpected rush of affection for both of them.

Breakfast first, then he was going to call his brother. He was going to help the Winchester brothers. No matter what it took.

* * *

_Now_

Dean shifted uncomfortably on a padded bench, picking at the fried calamari on his plate. The restaurant was beautiful, right up Anna's alley, but Dean couldn't have felt much more out of place. He wasn't a city guy anymore, and this part of North Charles was entirely too close to his old neighborhood and his former life with Cas. Sure, the food was good, except for the fact that it was getting stuck in his dry mouth, and Anna and Cas were hitting it off, so that was good, too.

Their past was being carefully avoided, as Anna, in a gorgeous royal blue sheath, discussed UMBC with Cas. She'd graduated two years behind him, but they were both English majors, and had had many of the same professors. They were currently laughing over the apparent lack of proper beard cleanliness of one Professor Alvin Myers.

There was an element of star-struck in the way Anna looked at Cas. He was a famous author, after all, and Alumni of the same school she'd gone to. Anna was brought up, primed really, by her parents to be a teacher. It was what she knew she would do from the time she was a small child, but- she _wanted_ to be a writer. Dean was one of the only people in the world that knew about the thick manuscripts wasting away on her laptop. And she was just as talented as Cas, in her own way.

He knew he should be pleased that they were getting along. Cas looked very nice, in a black on black pinstriped suit and a blue tie that lit up his eyes. In all actuality, he and Anna looked as though they had dressed to complement each other. Dean was wearing the dark grey suit Anna had bought him for his birthday the previous year and a blood red tie, and he looked wholly unremarkable. At least in his opinion, anyway.

Dean pushed the remains of his polenta around his plate. He honestly didn't think he'd ever been this uncomfortable.

"So how did you meet?" Cas asked, draining his glass of wine.

Anna giggled. Dean looked over at her, his eyebrow raised. She actually fucking giggled.

"Well, I teach English at Parkville Middle, and I'm the eighth grade advisor, so I was one of the teachers that took them on their orientation tour of the high school. Dean was one of the teachers leading the tour. I guess we just hit it off, and I asked him out. The rest is history, right hun?"

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice rough from disuse.

"That's lovely," Cas said, poking at his veal. "It's a sweet story. How long have you been together?"

"About two years," Anna chirped happily. She drained the last of her wine, "and it's been a wonderful two years. I've never been happier."

"And how are Victor and Sam?" he asked, obviously trying to pull Dean into the conversation.

"They're fine," he said shortly. Cas and Anna both looked disappointed at his answer. An odd pain settled in Dean's gut, and he pushed his dinner plate away, leaning back against the bench.

"I'll be back in a moment. Too much wine," Anna winked, as she stood and headed for the ladies room.

Dean stared down at his plate, unwilling to meet Cas's eyes. He hoped Anna wouldn't be long, because the level of uncomfortableness this dinner had reached was quickly overwhelming him.

"Dean? Are you ok?"

"'m fine," he mumbled, not looking up.

"No you're not."

"Why does it matter?"

Cas sighed, "it matters. I don't want you to be uncomfortable, and I can tell by looking at you that you are."

He felt a rush of anger, and he looked up at Cas. "How the hell would you know?" he asked angrily.

"Dean…"

"No. You don't get to do this, you don't get to pop up and act like you still fuckin'…" he trailed off, as Anna came back around the corner, sliding into her side of the bench.

"I hear the deserts are good here," she said pleasantly, smiling as a waiter refilled her wine. If she noticed the tension at the table, she didn't say anything. "So are you here visiting family, or just here for the book signing?"

Dean poked at his plate again, spearing a black olive with his fork.

"Actually, I was planning on moving back."

A rush of cold water in his lap, and Dean yelped and jumped from his seat, his water goblet spilling it's contents over the edge of the table. Anna's eyes were wide, and he absolutely refused to meet Cas's gaze. Dean snatched the fabric napkin off the table, and swiped at his pants. The silence around him was deafening and he chanced a look around the restaurant. Literally every eye in the place was on him, some amused, some concerned, but all looking at him like he didn't belong.

His cheeks flamed, and he mumbled something about the bathroom, stumbling back over another chair on his way there. Dean had never wished harder for the floor to open up and swallow him whole, as he wound his way through other diners and staff members, desperate for the privacy of the bathroom.

Relieved that the room was empty, he grabbed a wad of paper towels and ran them under the cold water. He pressed them against his hot cheeks, trying to ignore the sting of tears in his eyes. That was pissing him off more than anything, the thought that he felt like crying over this whole stupid, ridiculous situation.

So Cas wanted to move back to Baltimore. So fucking what? He grew up here, he had every right to the town, hell he had more right to it than Dean did. And Baltimore was a big place. Most likely Cas would get some twee little row house or condo or some shit down here in the city. Dean rarely came to the city. He was a county boy now, after all.

He grabbed the edges of the sink, his head hanging.

Well, this was just great. He could just imagine what Anna must be thinking and what they were going to talk about on the way home. He should have never agreed to this damn dinner. He should have just told Cas thanks, but no thanks.

Hell, if he was being honest, he never should have showed up at that damn book signing. That's when everything started falling apart. He was getting married, for Christ's sake! He had no business looking up old loves.

Dean sighed again. This night couldn't get much worse. He should probably get out there and try and do some damage control. He was turning to go when the door opened, and Cas pushed into the bathroom.

* * *

"What the hell?" Anna whispered.

Castiel smiled at the pretty redhead sitting across from him. "I'll go make sure he's ok," he said, laying his napkin on the table. "Be right back."

Anna nodded, clear distrust in her eyes as she looked up at him, and he ignored it, heading to the back of the restaurant.

Dean was standing at the door when he walked in, looking like he was about to leave the bathroom, his cheeks still painted bright red. He startled and took a step back. "What are you doing in here?"

"Just came to see if you were ok."

The other man scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"Dean, I'm not trying to cause trouble for you here. I swear. I just wanted to catch up."

Dean paced away from him, grabbing a wad of towels, pressing them against his crotch. "Right. I hear you." His voice was strained, and he turned away, facing the trash can and very deliberately not looking at Cas.

Even after all this time, he could still read him. The slump in his shoulders, the avoiding his eyes, and the dipped chin- he was horrendously uncomfortable, and he wanted to run, wanted to leave the restaurant and go.

He should have known. This was the last kind of place to bring Dean Winchester. The Dean he remembered liked low key, cozy places. Hole in the wall joints, like Ellen's Roadhouse. He never went in for the fancy stuff, preferring places where his jeans and band tees were welcome. Where the menu included short stacks and cheeseburgers, meals ended with a large piece of pie.

This place was as far from Dean's comfort zone as could possibly be.

"Dean, I'm sorry. You've been uncomfortable all night. I know you don't like places like this. I should have chosen somewhere different."

"You know I don't like places like this? Dammit, Cas," he growled, spinning to face him, "you don't know me anymore! It's been twelve fucking years!"

"You've changed that much? Really?"

Dean glared at him, fire in his green eyes. "Yeah, maybe I have!"

"Really? So you don't still love beer? And pie? Burgers, Led Zeppelin, _Dr. Sexy_? You don't still love sleeping in on Saturday mornings?" With each question, Cas felt bolder, stepping closer to Dean, until he was less than a foot from him.

"Dammit, Cas, personal space, man. C'mon." Dean shifted, flattening himself against the bathroom wall. His eyes darkened, pupils dilating slightly. "So what if I still like those things? Doesn't mean I'm the same guy. You left me, remember?"

"You didn't leave me much choice, now, did you?" He stepped closer, so close to Dean now that he could feel his breath.

"Fuck you," Dean growled, pressing himself flat against the bathroom wall.

Oh god, he wanted to kiss him. Dean was breathing hard, his chest heaving, and if he tried to tell Cas he wasn't turned on, there was no way in hell he'd believe him. His eyes were narrowed and dark, pupils huge.

"I hate you," he hissed. "I hate that I've got my life all figured out and you think you get to just waltz up in here and everything will go back to how it was before. It doesn't work like that, Cas. You left. You fucking left me. And it took _years_ for me to get right. You don't get to fuck me up like this again." He put his hands on Cas's chest and shoved. "Fuck you, you fucking asshole. Fuck you."

Cas stumbled back under the force of Dean's shove. "Dean…"

"No. I'm not doing this, I'm not playing this fucking game with you. I'm going to go back out there and finish my dinner, then me and Anna are going home. And that's it. I mean it. Don't call me, don't show up at my school, just fucking fuck off, Cas."

He balled up his paper towel and tossed it in the can.

"We finish this dinner, and we go our separate ways. Understood?"

"Yes, Dean. Whatever you want," Cas said sadly.

Dean stared at him, his eyes angry, distrustful, and he nodded once, turned and left the bathroom. He watched Dean storm out, and he deflated, all the breath in his lungs leaving in a rush.

That really couldn't have gone much worse.

The rest of the dinner was strained and uncomfortable. Dean stared at his plate, ate his dessert with mechanical detachment. Anna did her level best to keep a pleasant conversation going, and Castiel was grateful to her for that.

She was truly a lovely woman, poised and graceful, sweet and kind. She gushed about his work, flattering him with her pretty words, made him smile with her amusing anecdotes about her students, and in general kept the mood light. And that couldn't have been easy, sitting next to the moody mess that was Dean Winchester.

He paid the bill, leaving a generous tip, then waited with them while the valet brought Anna's little blue Honda.

"Well, it was lovely to meet you, Castiel," Anna said with a smile and a hug. "And thank you for dinner."

"My pleasure," he smiled.

Dean held the door for her, shutting it when she was settled, and moved around to the driver's side.

"Dean?"

The other man ignored him, opening the door and sliding inside. He didn't look back as he maneuvered the car out onto Charles Street.

"Sir? We have your cab," the valet told him.

He spared one last look at the retreating taillights of the Honda and sighed. Cas climbed into the cab, told the cabbie the name of his hotel, and leaned back against the seat.

All in all, it was an epic failure of a meal.

And any hope he might have had of winning Dean back was slowly slipping away.


End file.
